


A Single Grain

by mimeus



Series: Tomorrow Shone as Brightly as the Sun [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Series Spoilers, Slavery, Universe Alteration, forced sex change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimeus/pseuds/mimeus
Summary: He didn’t fight for Dalmasca, or honour, or even freedom. Reks fought for his brother and the hope that defeating Vayne would reunite his broken family.





	1. Prologue Part 1- Losses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Canon divergence, disregard for the manga completely, Rasler lives, minor character OCs, homosexual relationships, slavery, forced sex change, dubious consent, underage, headcanon galore, implied incest, spoilers for the game, Changes to game plot.  
> Pairings: Reks/Rasler, Basch/Vossler, Balthier/Vaan, Vayne/Vaan, Penelo/Fran, one-sided Larsa/Penelo, past blink-and-you-miss Basch/Gabranth  
> Summary: He didn’t fight for Dalmasca, or honour, or even freedom. Reks fought for his brother and the hope that defeating Vayne would reunite his broken family.
> 
> Thank you for waiting so patiently for the returning folks! And to new readers, welcome to A Single Grain!! :)  
> Basically, I once just wanted to write a story about Reks, and it grew into this monstrosity with lots of expanded lore and headcanons abound! I built the history of Ivalice as I see fit in order to make the plot work!
> 
> It is set in a world where Reks and Vaan meet Vayne beforehand and things happen. Reks as the main character, with Vaan on the opposite side of the war, kind of…
> 
> An edited/expanded prologue to ‘A Single Grain’. As mentioned before to some people who have contacted me, most of the plot is NOT changed in anyway, some of the wording is refined, and somethings have been added. In this prologue, look out for some Vayne. And an indication that Vaan and Vayne are meeting ;) And I say most haven’t changed but there’s an extra 1000 words to this prologue...
> 
> Like before, the Prologue is in three parts because I need to fit 5 years worth of information into the prologue…

_Rabanastre, Year 701 Old Valendian_

 

Reks is too young to be worried about these sorts of things, to be worried about becoming an orphan; he is only 14, just beginning to become comfortable in his apprenticeship. He sits in the main room, staring at the trinkets his parents have brought from their travels abroad; he sits and stares numbly while his parents’ coughs and groans echo from above.

 

The healer he’s called clears his throat to get Reks’ attention. “You should probably leave as well,” he states, nodding towards Vaan. “You don’t want you or your brother to catch it either right?”

 

“We can’t abandon our parents!” Vaan shouts angrily. He’s only 12, too young to understand that the world isn’t a simple black and white. Too young to understand that noble thoughts can mean nothing in the face of reality.

 

“Is there really no cure?” Reks cuts in before Vaan can say something stupid, petting his brother’s head to quiet him down. Reks’ youth must be showing as well- foolishly holding out for a chance of a cure. “We have the money; if there is something that can be done, please tell us.”

 

The healer’s brows furrow. “There really is no known cure at the moment,” he says, as gently as he can.

 

But Reks has seen these eyes before, eyes of a man with a secret; he has seen them in the caravaners his father is always bargaining with, in the desert nomads who know the Dalmascan sands like the back of their hand.

 

“Money is no object,” Reks says with finality, clamping his hand down on his brother’s shoulder to silence him. “Whatever it is, whatever you can tell us. Please.”

 

The healer raises a brow at his bravado before shrugging his shoulders. “This is not something the medical association has accepted,” he says in a hushed tone. “But judging by how none of the royals have gotten sick yet, I think they’ve got the right idea.”

 

“What is it?” Reks says with an urgent tone.

 

The healer leans in close. “They say the Nu-Mou of Nabradia can create a special tonic that can heal all ailments. An elixir. It is said that it can bring even a person on the brink of death back to full health.”

 

With those words the healer leaves, hurrying to his next appointment. Reks remains frozen in his seat, lost in thought, while Vaan flutters around him in excitement.

 

“That means we can help mum and dad, right?” Vaan says with a smile. “We just need to get to Nabradia!”

 

Reks hugs his brother tightly, petting the downy blond hair. “Yes,” Reks says, trying to sound strong. “Yes, we can save them.”

 

He does not tell Vaan that all airship activity within Dalmasca is frozen, and that Rabanastre is in a state of lockdown to prevent the spread of the plague. He does not mention that it takes a week to get to Nabradia by chocobo and by then, their parents could already be dead. He does not say that buying an elixir will cost more than what they have and that it’s a fool’s dream to attempt this. He mentions none of this, and opts instead to hold his brother tight.

 

Because this is the first time since their parents’ collapse that Vaan has smiled and Reks will be damned before he destroys the fragile hope that shines in his eyes.

 

***

 

Reks checks his parents into the hospital for a month- exactly 30 days and not a minute longer; it’s expensive, since it costs so much more to keep a plague patient. He made a time frame in his head. It will take 2 weeks to get to Nabudis and back, and he plans on searching for the Nu-Mou for only a week; they’ll be back before the hospital can kick his parents to the curb.

 

With that done, he goes and sells everything he can; all the things his parents have painstakingly purchased over the years to make their house a home are sold for whatever Reks can get. He fetches a good price for the house, for it is in the centre of the city with easy access to the shops and restaurants.

 

The only thing he keeps is a blue jewelled pin in the shape of a sea shell the size of his hand; it is the symbol of their family, and the one thing he cannot part with. Within the week, he is left with nothing but the clothes on his back and the signet of his family crest.

 

Even with everything gone, Reks is sure that the gil is barely enough for a single elixir. But, he soldiers on because this is truly their family’s last and only hope.

 

To escape the city, he travels to Lowtown for information. Despite his mother’s complaints about the less than respectable residents living there, Reks knows that the people of Lowtown are the best at smuggling in and out of Rabanastre. He spends the day down there, one hand holding tight to his brother and the other on their entire fortune. Reks hears the hushed words of guard formations, of their schedules, of who would look the other way with enough bribing.

 

He sits and listens and stays as unassuming as possible, filing every tidbit of information away.

 

***

 

They leave the city at sunrise, when the troops are out in the Estersands for morning training and there are significantly less guards at the Southern gates of the city. Vaan sways drowsily behind him, having been unable to sleep very well on the cold stones of Lowtown; Reks didn’t get any sleep, fretting about their plan, and worrying about robbers the entire night, but he acts strong for his brother. They manage to get to the gates without any incident, and the teleportation crystal is also thankfully void of guards.

 

Pulling out an orange teleportation stone, Reks grips Vaan’s hand and closes his eyes. He pictures the Mosphoran Highwaste the last time he visited, with its bubbling wells and high cliffs; he remembers the bulbous balloon-like plants that were sturdy enough for him to walk on, had made him feel as though he was walking on the wind. He’s only been there once, but it had been his first trip out of the city and he remembers the smallest details.

 

The teleportation stone had been stolen. Reks had taken it from a hunter he had seen napping in Lowtown. He feels guilty but knows that only high ranking hunters have access to such a thing. The man no doubt could easily get another one.

 

Reks feels the stone melt into the crystal and the rush of magick as it pulls him and his brother into the Rabanastre crystal and spits him out the Mosphoran crystal.

 

“Wow,” Vaan gasps after getting his bearing back. He grips his satchel tightly, his blue eyes wide. “This place is amazing.”

 

Reks can’t help but smile, remembering his own awe at the Mosphoran camp when he first saw it. He frowns when he looks at it now though; the camp is devoid of caravaners since they have all fled the plague-ridden regions. It is a pitiful skeleton of its former glory.

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Reks comments, shouldering his bag as well. “We can look around later, though. We need to go find that wild chocobo.”

 

Reks’ original plan had been to go to the South exit and rent a chocobo, but soon realized that there were currently no chocobos for rent in Rabanastre. Teleporting to Mosphoran Highwaste was a better idea anyways; it’d save them gil and shorten their trip.

 

It takes them about 30 minutes to find the small group of wild chocobos, and another 10 to coax one of them to feed from the gyashl green in his hand and allow itself to be mounted. Overall though, it takes less time and effort then Reks thought and he is relieved.

 

***

 

_Nabudis, Royal Capital of Nabradia, Year 701 Old Valendian_

 

Nabudis is beautiful, Reks cannot deny as he wanders through the city. Dalmasca is a desert country, and Rabanastre’s beauty lies in its golden sands that surround it and the rare glimpses of the Nebra river that refreshes its people. In contrast, Nabradia is situated by a large river and its capital, Nabudis, is completely surrounded by marshlands with a lake by the royal palace; its shimmering blue mingles with so much foliage that Reks feels like he is in a jungle than a city.

 

Nabudis is also much livelier than Rabanastre presently, as it hasn’t been hit with the plague and people have no worries about catching a disease.

 

“Where should we start?” Vaan asks at last, shifting from foot to foot in the strange new place.

 

Reks combs through his silver hair, sighing. “I think we should ask about the Nu Mou clan’s location,” he replies. “I don’t want to waste the gil on something that’s defective. We should go straight to the source.”

 

They start at the sundries shop, and the moogle that owns the place tells them a Nu-Mou can be found at one of the magick stores on the other side of the city. The trek through Nabudis is long but pleasant; the sun doesn’t glare down at them as the abundance of greenery creates plenty of shade.

 

“It’s really beautiful here,” Vaan says with awe while passing the Royal Palace. A moment later, he grins up cheekily at Reks. “But nothing compared to Rabanastre’s palace though.”

 

Reks chuckles in reply. It’s nice here, joking with Vaan; it’s as though he and his brother are simply on a vacation than on a mission to save their parents’ lives.

 

They stop to have a light lunch and finally find the magick shop an hour after their meal. The shop is run by Khala, an old Nu-Mou with mottled, greying fur; it is smaller than the other magick shops, but it is more inviting, almost homey, as though the Nu-Mou is simply selling wares from his living room.

 

“How can I help you children?” Khala asks with a smile.

 

“Do you know where we can get elixirs?” Reks says, rubbing the back of his neck. There is no point in wasting time with mock pleasantries.

 

“For curing the Desert plague!” Vaan adds with a wave of his hand.

 

The old Nu-Mou looks forlorn, his lips drawn tight. “I cannot help you, children.”

 

“Please, sir, we’ve come all this way,” Reks murmurs, grabbing the furry arm. “It wasn’t easy getting here from Rabanastre. Can’t you at least hear what we have to say?”

 

Khala sighs and closes the shop early, and directs them to the small office in the back. Reks explains their parents’ plight, the meeting with the healer, their travels through the Highwaste and the Salika Woods. More than himself, it is Vaan’s little exclamations that seem to sway Khala; he’s always had this ability, to inspire, to give hope when everything seems bleak.

 

By the end of their story, Khala sits with a silent frown and Reks tries to will his face blank while Vaan finishes the last of the biscuits the shop keeper brought out.  

 

“Can the elixir actually heal the plague?” Reks asks at last, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them.

 

“Of course. The elixir can cure all ailments. A miracle of the gods,” Khala answers calmly. “But, to do it in the timeframe you’re thinking of will be impossible. It takes 6 months to brew.”

 

“Six months!” Vaan cries out, his blue eyes widened in shock. “But that’ll be too late.”

 

“Not only that,” the Nu-Mou continues. “The ingredients are hard to acquire… Some even forbidden… It may take years to collect all that is needed to make the item.”

 

“Don’t you have any on hand?” Vaan asks, his pale blue eyes bright. “This is a magick shop, right??”

 

Khala shakes his head, long ears flapping along. “Perhaps, hmm… Maybe,” he mutters to himself, leaving his seat to pull out a large scroll from the bookshelf. Reks clears the table as Khala opens the scroll and places the yellowed parchment on the wooden surface; it is simply a map of Nabradia’s borders. Then Khala mutters a spell, waving his fur covered hands in a complex pattern and Vaan gasps and claps his hand in awe as three small points on the map lights up in a pale golden light.  

 

“These are the locations of villages in which my kin live in,” Khala says. “I can do nothing, but my brethren may be able to help you.”

 

Reks rubs his temples, biting his lips in thought. “It’ll take too long for us to get to all these places by foot,” he says with a sigh. The endeavour was doomed from the beginning but Reks had been drawn in by Vaan’s enthusiasm and had almost begun to hope. “Vaan, there’s nothing we can do. It’s over.”

 

“But we have to!” Vaan cries out, rubbing at his runny nose. “We came all this way, Reks!”

 

“Vaan, look at this map! We can’t get there and get back home in time!” Reks tries to explain, waving at the map, but his brother sticks out his lips and faces Khala.

 

“We can use the teleportation stone to get back home!” Vaan yells, his voice cracking at the volume. “Then we can spend more time looking!”

 

Reks’ composure breaks. “Do you know how expensive those things are? Only the best hunters have access to them! Do you understand how risky it is?! We can’t afford to use the stone twice!” he yells back, the frustration and anger he’s felt the whole time exploding. “You don’t understand anything, Vaan! Don’t you get that we left the city illegally?! We can’t risk getting caught using the teleportation stone back and even if we could, we don’t have the gil for it!”

 

Khala, who has stayed quiet until now, puts one soft hand on his shoulder and the other on Vaan’s. “Now, now,” he says with finality, ensuring to stop the argument. “There is no point in fighting about this.”

 

The old Nu-Mou meets Vaan’s eyes. “Vaan, your brother is right, you cannot make this journey on foot and still return to Rabanastre in time,” he says to the blond before turning to Reks. “But Reks, Vaan’s words have merit. It is too early to give up hope; you are still young, and should have a bit more optimism in you.”

 

“What do you suggest we do?” Reks asks, slouching into his seat. The yelling drained the last of his energy. He wraps his arms around Vaan, and his younger brother steps closer. “I’m sorry, Vaan. I didn’t mean to take out my anger at you.”

 

Vaan simply nods in reply, burrowing his face deeper into Rek’s hug.

 

Khala watches with a fond smile before passing the map to Reks. “Young Reks,” he says, digging out a small piece of parchment from his desk side drawer. He writes something in a rough hand and passes the paper to him as well. “At the Nabudis Aerodome, ask for Brisin. Give him the small parchment and the map. He is a friend and will take you to my brethren. Might even give you a ride back to Rabanastre if he likes you enough.”

 

Reks ignores Vaan’s cheer of delight, gripping the parchments and furrowing his brows at the Nu-Mou. “But why go so far to help us?” Reks asks because he can’t understand. Khala has no reason to do this for them; none at all.

 

Khala furry face shifts as his eyes droop and his lips quirk into a smile. “The Nu-Mou are not easily found in the cities, did you know? We prefer to live amongst ourselves,” he starts to say, meandering past his desk to rummage through his bookshelf again. “You are not the first to have asked me for an elixir, or for the location of our homes.”

 

“Is it a secret?” Reks asks. He’s never known that the Nu-Mou guarded their villages like some other races did.

 

Khala shakes his head. “No, our villages are not secret, but they are not well known either,” he answers. “But I digress. The point is, you are not the first to ask, but you are the first that did so with such earnest and pure intentions.”

 

Khala smiles at them again, the grey fur of his face twitching. “The others, when they came, only wanted them for profit,” the Nu-Mou explains. “They came with a desire to take advantage of another’s plight, and I could not allow it. But you, you came out of the love in your heart, and I’m not so jaded in my years that I cannot see this,” Khala looks away, his eyes looking far into the past. The old shopkeeper wraps something deftly and rolls it in his hands.

 

His old eyes clears and he ushers them out. “Quickly, quickly!” he exclaims, pushing them out of his shop. “You must get moving before you miss Brisin! He’s set to leave by sunset!”

 

Reks feels the Nu-Mou push something into his pocket but cannot complain as Khala kicks them out with surprising strength, back into the bustling street.

 

It is only when they are on their way to the Aerodome, with Vaan excitedly chattering about flying on an actual airship that Reks gets a chance to look at what Khala gave him.

 

It is a package wrapped in papyrus that doubled as a wrapping and a letter. Reks laughs, cutting Vaan’s words off with a start.

 

 _Sometimes, the risks are worth taking. Besides, having a back-up plan is never a bad idea._  The note says and Reks cannot help laughing because if he doesn’t, he will start crying.

 

His whole country had done nothing for him and yet here was a perfect stranger helping him.

 

Reks grips the teleportation stone as he reassures Vaan that he is perfectly fine and that Khala didn’t cast a spell on him.

 

***

 

The Nabudis Aerodome is designed similarly to the Rabanastre Aerodome, though the floor of the Nabudis Aerodome is decorated with frosted tumbled glass. The green and blue pieces litter between the black tiles like stars and Reks takes a moment to admire the creativity of reusing broken glass before going to the private airship stall.

 

“How can I help you?” the teller asks with a smile, though Reks can tell she is perplexed to why two young children that don’t look wealthy enough to afford a ship are here.

 

“I’m looking for Brisin,” Reks replies, holding Vaan’s wrist so he won’t run off to explore. Vaan struggles for only a moment before huffing. “I have a message from Khala for him.”

 

The woman nods, familiar with both Brisin and Khala, and taps on her screen. “Hmm, looks like he’s still here,” she says with a nod. “Just go to hanger 9 and the Shatter should be docked there.”

 

Reks thanks her and makes his way to hanger 9, still holding Vaan tightly.

 

“Do you think he’ll let me drive it?” Vaan asks excitedly.

 

Reks stifles a laugh before raising a brow at his brother. “If he does,” Reks comments lightly. “I’ll have to seriously consider his sanity.”

 

“Hey!” Vaan says before punching Reks’ shoulder. “I could fly the ship! If he taught me!”

 

Reks doesn’t bother replying except with a scoff, as they’ve already arrived at the ship hanger. The Shatter is a small, narrow thing, made more for speed than for cargo. In Reks’ honest opinion, it looks like a flying deathtrap and he’d rather not set foot inside.

 

“Careful, don’t look too hard or I’ll start thinking you want to steal her,” a deep voice snaps Reks out of his thoughts. The man has pale skin with long red hair, tied in a simple braid; he doesn’t look old, perhaps in his late 20s, though Reks is never too sure about the ages of adults. He’s never seen a person with red hair before, so he cannot help but stare at the long hair. His father had once told him that titian hair was commonly found in the Northern continent of Valendia, particularly where the former republic of Landis once stood.

 

“Are you Brisin?” Reks asks. The man isn’t what Reks was expecting. He had expected someone Nabradian.

 

“Aye, that’s me,” the man replies, tilting his head down to glance at the children. “And who-”

 

Vaan cuts Brisin off before he can question Reks. “Your ship is amazing!” he shouts, blue eyes wide. “How fast does it go? Can we go for a ride? How long have you had it? Is it hard to fly? What-”

 

“Oi, lad, one question at a time!” Brisin says with a laugh. “And before I answer any of that, I need to know, who are you?”

 

“I’m Reks, this is my brother, Vaan,” Reks says. “Khala sent us.”

 

He pulls out the parchment Khala gave him and passes it. Brisin skims it silently, his green eyes scanning the paper carefully, his fingers rubbing the ink for any forgery.

 

Once he’s satisfied, Brisin tucks the paper into his shirt pocket before chuckling at Reks. “I don’t know what you did, but you sure got Khala on your side,” he says as he tilts his head towards the Shatter. “Well, come on then. Get inside and we’ll talk. I have a pretty tight schedule to keep.”

 

***

 

Reks can’t help but be thankful for Vaan’s overwhelming excitement. It distracts Brisin from questioning him and Reks doesn’t know how much Khala told the skyship owner; he doesn’t want to reveal too much. Brisin may try to steal the elixirs. Vaan’s never ending excitement for the skyship also helps him forget his hate for flying.

 

Reks cannot stand flying. Hates the motion, hates the noise of the engine, and hates the sudden ascent and descent. He gets air-sick easily, so he’s always preferred to travel by chocobo during his apprenticeship, leaving airship travel as a last resort. The only way Reks has ever been able to travel by air is by sleeping the entire trip. Regardless, Vaan’s voice distracts him enough that he can pretend that he isn’t thousands of feet high in the air in a metal monstrosity.

 

Brisin is friendly and willing to answer all of Vaan’s questions, letting his brother sit next to him in the co-pilot seat. The seat is normally empty, since the man doesn’t need a co-pilot for such a tiny skyship. Reks is content to let them be, sitting on the small couch behind the pilot’s seat. But once Vaan gets drowsy and leaves for the guest room Brisin has provided, they are left in a tense silence.

 

“So,” Brisin says after clicking the Shatter’s auto-pilot and sliding into the seat across from him. “Why the sudden trip to the Nu-Mou’s villages?”

 

Reks narrows his eyes at the man. “Didn’t Khala tell you in his message?”

 

“Naw,” Brisin replies flippantly. “All that old dog said was I should take you to the villages and he’ll give me a discount on some upgrade magicite for my ship.”

 

“I guess you don’t need to know then,” Reks says with finality, but leaving his tone light enough not to offend the other. Brisin is probably trust-worthy but he doesn’t want to reveal anything in case the man is someone that wants to profit from the elixirs.

 

Brisin raises a brow but shrugs in reply. “Well, whatever. It’s not important,” he says but turns to shake his head at Reks. “Goddess above, you need to learn how to be friendly.”

 

***

 

The area surrounding the village is covered in a thick mist, so Brisin has to land the Shatter a ways away and they end up spending a day walking through the marshes to get there.

 

The Nu-mou are kind but more interested in scholarly pursuits than at the visitors in their village. After much prodding, one of the younger Nu-Mou directs them to the apothecary. Vaan decides to spend the day following Brisin as the Landissir conducts some business through the town, so Reks heads to the apothecary alone.

 

Luckily they have elixirs.

 

Unluckily, they are frightfully expensive.

 

The shop owner explains that the ingredients that go into making elixirs, including rare items as ambrosias, high arcanas and other such things Reks has only heard whispers of, are something the price of the elixir takes into account.

 

“But for Khala’s friends…. I’ll give one for half price,” the shop keeper says after a few uncomfortable moments spent looking at Reks’ dejected expression.

 

Thanks to that, Reks doesn’t have to pay with every last gil they own, though it certainly comes close.

 

***

 

Brisin offers them a ride back to Rabanastre. Reks says no, Vaan says yes.

 

Which is why Reks ends up riding the metal death trap again.

 

It is when Vaan has turned in for the night that Brisin turns on the Shatter’s auto-pilot once more and slides into the seat across from him.

 

“So, needed the elixirs for family,” Brisin comments, tilting his head and regarding Reks with raised brows. “Don’t know why you kept it so hush-hush for.”

 

Reks doesn’t think it would be wise to tell Brisin that he thought him a thief so he settles for a nonchalant look instead. “Just didn’t know if you were trustworthy or not.”

 

Luckily for Reks, the redhead simply laughs in response. “And, what’s the verdict?”

 

Reks shrugs. “You’re alright.”

 

Brisin laughs again before nodding in approval. “That’s good,” he says. “It’s never a good idea to let someone too close to you. Never know where backstabbers are.”

 

They don’t speak for the rest of the journey, other than vague pleasantries, but they’ve come to an understanding, and that is good enough.

 

***

 

They land near the edge of the Giza plains, and Brisin ruffles Vaan’s hair and gives a nod to Reks before leaving. Reks had specifically asked to be dropped off at Giza plains, so they could enter into Lowtown via the transport gate.

 

The walk is pleasant, because the plains, while still in wet season, isn’t pouring torrents of rain upon them.  So, the weather is neither too hot and nor too humid.

 

They get home with hope in their hearts and a smile on their faces. Reks jokes about Vaan apprenticing under Brisin, who genuinely gets excited and promptly plans for his apprenticeship.

 

It is obvious in the time they’ve been gone, a scant three weeks, that the plague has become less of a problem, or the citizens have become tired of fearing it. The gates are open and the shops are busier, though still not as it should be.

 

Everything is looking up until they get to the hospital.

 

Then the world slips between Reks’ fingers.

 

***

 

The good thing about Vaan is that despite being naïve and outspoken most of the time, he knows when to be silent.

 

Or perhaps it is the shock that stills his younger brother. Reks can barely hear anything the healer is saying as she places a heavy urn in his hands.

 

All that planning, all that work, and in the end, nothing changed.

 

They are alone; alone and desperate in a city that has no love for them anymore.

 

***

 

Reks rents a small room in the outskirts of the city with the small amount of gil he had leftover from the purchase of the elixirs. It’s still better than lowtown but it’s near the Aerodorm, so there is lots of noise. Their apartment has nothing but secondhand furniture Reks managed to wrangle, a far cry from their family home.

 

He gets a job with one of his father’s former partners. While Reks isn’t a fully fledge merchant yet, he had made it far enough in his apprenticeship to be a productive employee. It also helps that his family had been quite popular, so he’s able to get employment despite his young age. It’s hard work, and he gets paid less than the others for doing it, but the gil keeps them fed, even if they have to go without some of the luxuries they had before.

 

There isn’t enough money to send Vaan in for an apprenticeship but Moniq, a young Bangaa jeweller, allows Vaan to shadow her in her shop in return for information from Reks regarding good deals in magicite. It is sympathy that allows her to welcome the brothers, for she lost a brother to the plague as well. She warm up to Vaan, even showing him several techniques to improve the quality of a gem.

 

Their life is not great, but Reks makes sure that Vaan never goes hungry and that they have a place to sleep at night.

 

It is all he can do at this point.

 

***

 

It is three months after their parents’ death when Vaan brings up the ashes. Until then it had been hidden in the corner of their apartment, inside a box. Out of sight, out of mind.

 

“We should do something,” Vaan says, fiddling with a thin wire of silver. It had been leftover from Moniq’s last project and she gave it to Vaan to practice wire setting on. “With the ashes, I mean.”

 

Reks looks up from the document he had been reading, the table littered with bills and payments. Balancing finances is one of the hardest things he’s needed to learn. He doesn’t say anything, simply giving Vaan his best disapproving face.

 

“Moniq says that when her brother died, she went up to Bur-Omisace to release his ashes,” Vaan continues when Reks says nothing. “We should go… It’s not fair to leave them locked up like that…”

 

Reks taps the table with his hand. “Do you know how much it costs to go up there? We can’t afford that,” he mutters, his grey eyes dark. “Besides, I can’t take any time off.”

 

“It takes 5 days, just 5 days,” Vaan argues, crossing his arms. “They’d be willing to let you go with pay, especially for something like this. We could afford to go to Nabudis, why can’t we go to Mount Bur-Omisace?”

 

Reks sighs. “Vaan, this is completely different,” he explains. “To go to Nabudis, we just had to follow the trade routes that were protected by the country. The road to Bur-Omisace has no such protection. We’d have to hire guards, get supplies. We don’t have the gil for that.”

 

“What about the Elixirs? We could sell one of them,” Vaan says, tilting his head. “It’s not like we’re doing anything with them.”

 

The elixirs have also been hidden with the urn. It hurts Reks to look at them, to be reminded of the hope he once had. The hope he lost as quickly as it came.

 

Vaan bounds over, placing a thin hand on Rek’s arm. “Reks, please. This is not good for us, for you, to hold on to these memories,” Vaan speaks softly, as though speaking to a wolf. Young he may be, but Vaan understands the hearts of people as though he is reading a simple book. Certainly better than Reks was ever able to. “We’ve been surviving but you haven’t really lived. We need to let mum and dad go, so we can start living again.”

 

When he doesn’t reply, Vaan just sighs and moves to his bed area. “Just… think about what I said, ok?” he says before slipping behind the curtained partition to his sleeping area.

 

Reks gets neither work nor any sleep that night, thinking about what it means to be alive, what it means to be left behind.

 

***

 

Once his mind is made up, it’s surprising how easily Reks’ travel plan comes together.

 

Moniq agrees to look after their small apartment while they are gone. She even gifts them two thick cloaks for the travel up the snowy Paramina Rift. She shares private words with Vaan, and judging by her smile, it seems she’s congratulating Vaan for finally convincing him.

 

As Vaan had said, Reks’ employer lets him leave for Bur-Omisace when he learns of their plans without a complaint.

 

“It’ll be good. To release their ashes up there,” the robust hume says. His employer is a merchant that has forgotten what it’s like to travel for wares, successful enough to use mediators to bring him his products. “For your father, bless his soul, I’ll still pay your wages as if you had worked for the days you missed.”

 

Reks finds a group of guards through his father’s connections. Hadir is a hume that had been close with his father; he is a man that lives a nomadic lifestyle with several other members in his tight-knit group. He agrees to lead his men to Mount Bur-Omisace and escort them back for a single elixir.

 

Reks doesn’t ask why he’d need the elixir and Hadir does not mention it.

 

Their group travels by chocobo through the Southern continent. It’s ironic; Reks has traveled further this one year than he has any other years apprenticing under his father.

 

His parents’ ashes lay heavily in his pack, the urn wrapped up in layers of cloth to prevent it from shattering. Vaan’s pack is also strangely heavy, though his brother will not show him what’s inside. Reks allows Vaan his secrecy; it’s most likely a new childish fancy of his.

 

Despite the reason for their journey, Vaan is a bright ray in their group. He manages to keep their companions laughing and in good cheer, even through the freezing weathers of the Paramina Rift.

 

Time flies, and in a blink it seems, they have reached the sacred land, Mount Bur-Omisace.

 

Hadir squeezes his shoulder and tells him that he and his men will wait down with the chocobos for two days, and two days only. If they wait to leave any later than that, the weather will not permit travel back to Rabanastre.

 

With a nod, Reks shoulders his bag, grips his brother’s hand and makes his way to the peak.

 

***

 

 _Holy Land Mount Bur-Omisace_ _,_ _Year_ _701 Old Valendian_

 

Mount Bur-Omisace is surprisingly busy, with worshippers meandering through the paths. Rek had thought the mountain would be more solemn but it is reminiscent of the bazaar at Rabanastre, filled with vendors selling relics and bustling with pilgrims talking excitedly as they pass holy sites.  

 

Vaan keeps a firm hold on his cloak, ensuring that they don’t get separated while Reks scouts around for a site to release the ashes.

 

“How about there?” Vaan asks, pointing to the top of a stone face. The ancient rock is vaguely in the shape of a dragon’s snout, weathered naturally over the course of time. “Even if we can’t release the ashes, we’ll be able to see further out from there.”

 

Reks scans the area and finds a small staircase that looks to lead to the top of the stone dragon’s head. “Looks good,” he replies and they beginning the ascent to the top.

 

***

 

On top of the cliff, Reks finds a good place to release his parents. One side faces the masses and that is absolutely no good, but the opposite side gives them the view of the Paramina Rift and even further, out to the edge of the Golmore Jungle.

 

They are lucky that the winds are blowing towards the rift. The ash spreads far across the icy plains, disappearing amongst the pale snow.

 

“Reks,” Vaan says, pulling at his sleeve. He pulls out two cupped plants from his pack. Reks can see why Vaan’s pack was so heavy now; the Galbana lilies have been kept alive by several sunstones that gave the plant bursts of sunlight even through the freezing temperatures of the Paramina Rift.

 

“Why’d you bring that?” Reks asks, tilting his head. He rubs one of the silky petals in his hand; Galbana Lilies are his favourite flowers, ever since he found a patch of them in the Westersands as a child.

 

Vaan looks down, suddenly shy. “I thought…I thought we’d plant them here,” he replies, staring past Reks. “So that even when the ashes are gone, we’d be able to come back and remember.”

 

Reks’ eyes soften in response. “That’s a great idea,” he says, sliding into a crouch and putting a hand on the ground. The soil is thin, and he can feel the rough stone beneath it. But Galbana Lilies are known their ability to survive in the harshest environments and he is confident that they will flourish here, in the memory of his parents.

 

They crouch side by side and each plant a small Galbana Lily, the orange petals standing out brightly against the grey background.

 

“Do you think we can come back every year?” Vaan asks, his eyes bright with hope. “It could be our tradition! Coming to plant a Galbana lily each year?”

 

Reks says yes, because, like always, he can’t help but try to nurture the small hope in his brother’s eyes.

 

***

 

Reks loses him. He searches desperately for Vaan but the crowd is surrounding him too tightly for him to get a good look.

 

It was only for a moment; Reks had gone to get food and Vaan opted to stay because his feet were tired. He had told Vaan to stay seated by the fountain, why couldn’t his brother ever listen?

 

Reks couldn’t lose his brother; they are alone now, with only each other for family. He thinks his soul will completely shatter if he were to lose Vaan.

 

He flitters from group to group, asking if anyone’s seen a young blond boy and despairing as each inquiry gets him nowhere.

 

Finally,  _finally_ , a young hume acolyte tells him that he saw such a child by the Northern septum, watching the floating lands with delight. Reks thanks him profusely before running off.

 

Vaan isdead when Reks gets to him.

 

***

 

Reks freezes when he gets to the Northern septum and he can’t help but tremble in fear. There is someone sitting next to Vaan, someone with dark hair and the aristocratic features of an Archadian.

 

 _Vayne Solidor_.

 

Normally Dalmascans would never bother with the political scandals of other nations. Especially, someone like Reks who is too busy surviving to think about gossip, but everyone has heard of Vayne Solidor. Of his cold eyes and dark hair. Of his bloodlust. Of his heartless ways.

 

Of how he  _killed_  his own brothers for power.

 

Reks wants to run up to Vaan and shake him, wants to ask just what he’s thinking talking to someone as dangerous as a Solidor. He wants to grab Vaan and flee, hide him from the cold gaze of the Archadian prince.

 

But Reks cannot do any of this; he cannot show fear.

 

So, he straightens his back and stiffly walks over to the two of them…No, three of them; he did not even notice the Judge until now, the masked figure hiding the in shadows. Elite guard, army general, assassin all in one.

 

“I thought I told you to wait by the fountain,  _little brother_ ,” Reks says, emphasizing the last words. Vaan furrows his brows but nods. It is a signal, to not reveal his name or anything personal; it may be too late for that. Reks doesn’t know how long Vayne’s been there and Vaan has the habit of all young children of talking too much.

 

Vaan at least has the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry! I got distracted! This Seeq told me that there were floating continents like Bhujerba here! But smaller! Look, look!” Vaan says, grabbing hold of Reks’ arm. Solidor quirks his lips upwards as though he’s amused and Reks wants to growl at the Archadian to leave. But he dare not- death is slow and painful for those that anger the Solidor.

 

“They are much too small to house inhabitants,” Vayne replies with an indulgent smile at Vaan. He has a calming voice, a reassuring voice but Reks can’t help but feel even more fearful for it. Vayne Solidor wears his masks well, too well. “They are pieces of a former continent, one much like Bhujerba.”

 

“What happen to it?” Vaan asks before Reks can politely excuse himself and his brother. Reks will most definitely need to speak to his brother about talking to strangers.

 

“The magick keeping the land afloat lost power and it simply fell,” Vayne answers. “Tis the fate of many lands.”

 

“You know a lot. You must be really smart,” Vaan says, kicking his legs back and forth. Reks pleads with his eyes to keep quiet but Vaan doesn’t notice.

 

“We need to leave,” Reks cuts in before this strange conversation can go on any longer. “Our group is waiting for us.”

 

“But R- _big brother_ , I thought he said we were leaving tomorrow?” Vaan says with a frown.

 

Reks shakes his head and wraps his hand around Vaan’s thin wrist. “He changed his mind. The storm will is acting up sooner than he expected. Now, let’s go.”

 

“You are welcome to travel with myself and my retinue,” Vayne offers with a wave of his hand. “It seems such a shame to make him leave when he’s still enjoying the sights.”

 

 “No, thank you,” Reks says with a bow, pulling Vaan behind him. “My brother and I really need to get going. Good bye.”

 

“Bye Lor- Bye Vayne!” Vaan says, throwing back the greeting as they leave the septum.

 

“You can’t call him by his name!” Reks hisses, scandalized.  

 

“But he said I could!”

 

Reks clicks his teeth but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t say anything until he doesn’t feel cold eyes burning into his back.

 

***

 

“Vaan, do you even know who you were talking to?” Reks growls when they are finally among the masses, protected by the crowds.

 

Vaan gives him a petulant look and Reks sighs, mentally preparing himself for a battle. “It was Vayne Solidor,” Vaan replies. “But-”

 

“Then why were you talking to him?” Reks cuts in sharply. “You know what he’s done! Everyone knows what he’s done!”

 

“It wasn’t his fault though,” Vaan argues back.

 

By the gods, his brother is such a fool. “It’s  _not_ his fault that he executed his brothers after accusing them of treason?” Reks asks with a blank look, darting past the people with ease. Sometimes it’s good to be small and unnoticeable; they need to get down to the base of Mount Bur-Omisace as soon as possible.

 

“He didn’t know they’d get executed!” Vaan defends. “He thought their father would forgive them! He was really sad about his brothers, I could tell! I mean, he was only 17!”

 

“The Solidors corrupts their children at an early age,” Reks shoots back with a shake of his head.

 

“He loved them. They were his brothers!”

 

Reks sighs and puts his hands on Vaan’s shoulders, meeting his eyes. “Vaan, Vayne Solidor is a politician. It’s practically his job to get people on his side! If he can woo all of Archadia to forgive his fratricide, he can gain your sympathies!”

 

Vaan shakes his head at Reks. “That’s your problem Reks,” he says. “You’re always too critical of people. Sometimes, you need to give them a benefit of the doubt. Besides-” here, Vaan sticks his tongue out and runs towards the chocobo pens. “I’m much better at reading people than you!”

 

Reks laughs and follows behind him, catching up to Vaan quickly with his longer strides.

 

He never brings the topic up again but Reks can’t help but be on guard the whole trip back to Rabanastre, where he knows they’ll be safe.

 

***

 

The first letters arrive a week after Reks’ return to Rabanastre. He had thought he’d never hear from Brisin or Khala ever again. Nonetheless, the letters are a pleasant surprise; it is a simple missive, a word of condolence and an open offer of assistance should Reks ever need it from Khala. Brisin’s note is even shorter, a general word of well-wishing and nothing else, though the Landissir had sent along a gift of tea from Rozarria with his message.

 

Reks wastes the day with Vaan, trying to craft an appropriate response but by the end of it, he’s written an odd tangent that details what they’ve been up to, with interjections from Vaan peppered in. He sends his responses off to the address of Khala’s shop, along with some candied dates he had made as a snack for Vaan.

 

Thus begins the letter exchanges between Khala, Brisin and Reks.

 

***

 

At times Reks is forced to work late or pre-dawn hours, which leaves him with no energy through the rest of the day. On one such day, he wakes a little after the mid-day bells, and finds himself alone. That in of itself is odd, for Vaan to leave the house without waking him up to say where he was going.  Even when his brother is going off to play with the other kids in the building, he always ensures to tell Reks. It eats away at Reks, and he gets even more nervous when Vaan is not in any of his normal haunts.

 

But then Vaan returns home before sundown, carrying a bag full of cactus fruits, ripe and freshly harvested from the cactoids near the entrance of the city.

 

“Off adventuring, were you?” Reks asks, his relief at seeing his brother overshadowing his anger at Vaan’s risky behaviour.

 

Vaan nods. “Yeah! You know those cactoids are nothing to worry about!” he replies. “And I thought it might be nice to get have some fresh cactus fruit for a snack!”

 

Reks shakes his head before flicking his finger against Vaan’s forehead. “Next time, tell me where you’re off to,” he says. “And don’t go out there alone. You never know what’s around.”

 

For a moment Vaan opens his mouth to say something but instead nods at Reks’ words. Reks knows he should get Vaan to tell him what he was going to say, but chooses to leave it instead- he doesn’t want to fight with his brother.

 

***

_“The blood of Istahar runs thick.”_

_“Istahar...”_

_“The mother of revolution. The daughter who first dreamt of casting the shackles that bound her.”_

_“Must be destiny then, for us to have met.”_

_“Destiny ha! If those fools planned a meeting such as this- ‘tis folly on their parts. They will soon regret giving us such an edge. The reins of history will be back in the hands of man soon enough!”_

 

***

 

“He has a new friend,” Reks says to Moniq, tapping his hand on wooden work table that the Bangaa uses. “But I don’t know who it is and no one seems to know either.”

 

Reks visits Moniq whenever he can. She makes delicious food and doesn’t charge Reks for it. One thing he’s learned to appreciate since his parents’ death is a hearty, free meal that he doesn’t have to prepare himself. She is also a wonderful listener who gives useful advice.

 

“He’s at that age, isn’t he?” the Bangaa replies with a shrug. “When he wants to keep certain things to himself.”

 

Reks grumbles at Moniq’s tone. “But I’m his brother.”

 

“You are both brother and father to Vaan,” Moniq says without looking up from the necklace she is shaping. “Give him some space. He might have a secret girlfriend.”

 

Reks sighs, resting his face on his hands. “I’m just worried.”

 

“I know,” Moniq says with the wisdom of a fellow eldest child. “But you got to give him some space to roam.”

 

 

***

 

_Rabanastre, Year 702 Old Valendian_

 

Almost 9 months since his parents’ death, Reks’ life starts to get a semblance of stability at last. His experience in dealing with traders gets him a higher ranking job that pays better, finally allowing him to pay Moniq for an official apprenticeship for Vaan, though the Jeweller does give him a steep discount.

 

Reks’ 15th birthday is celebrated with a surprise birthday party from Vaan with all the invitees bringing a dish of food. Most are friends from work or his old apprenticeship, but there are some surprising faces that Reks hadn’t expected. Hadir brings a sweet, almond based pie that substitutes for a cake, and Moniq brings a cockatrice stew that is a hit with all the guests. Brisin gives him a thick blue fabric he is importing from Bhujerba, something to fashion into some new clothes while Khala brings some magicked charms to keep warm in the rainy season. Reks can’t remember smiling this much since the plague swept through.

 

Vaan waits until everyone’s left to present Reks with his present. It is a set of stud earrings, in the shape of their family crest; he’s even managed to inlay slivers of lapis lazuli to bring the blue colour in the inner parts of the shell.

 

“Moniq helped me set the stone,” Vaan says with a bright smile. “But I did the rest! I tried really hard to get the shape right!”

 

Reks can’t help but let out a shaky breath. “Thank you, Vaan,” he replies, hugging his brother tightly. “It’s wonderful.”

 

Vaan produces a matching set from his pocket, though the shape is not as well made as his. “I thought we could each wear them, so everyone can tell we’re family!”

 

Reks hugs him again and tells Vaan that it is a wonderful idea.

 

***

 

Sometimes Vaan brings in food from the markets, expensive cockatrice meats, spices from Rozarria and Balfonheim, things Reks knows that they cannot afford. Sometimes he brings home gil, not a tremendous amount, but enough to be suspicious. But when confronted, Vaan insists he sells some of his better works, or he carries messages between shops and guilds in the city.

 

Then the guilt sets in, and a part of Reks wants to tell Vaan that he doesn’t have to work. However, the added income is welcome, so he cannot tell his brother to stop.

 

Reks only hopes that Vaan speaks true and it’s simply a part time job, but he has a feeling that Vaan’s mysterious new friend is the reason for their sudden increase in wealth.

 

***

 

Their housing starts to become more like a home, with small trinkets that litter the tables and some of Vaan’s completed pieces proudly displayed on a shelf.

 

Their home is humble but Reks feels a flickering of hope that life will get better, that his family will get through this.

 

But he forgets that the Gods are cruel and they do not allow for such happiness in him.

 

***

 

They are in the Estersands, looking for Galbana lilies. Vaan wants to grow their own so they’d have enough when they go to visit the mountain next year.

 

Before, Reks would have complained about the expenses that they cannot afford to spend, but this year, there is enough gil to warrant a looser purse, so he simply shrugs and spends his free day looking for a Galbana Lily to bring back.

 

It is there, amongst the Estersands that everything falls apart.

 

They are eating when it happens; Reks feels a hand gripping the back of his shirt and he’s thrown across the sands. The sharp grains dig into his skin and his head pounds from the impact of hitting the dune; his eyes make out a bleary figure until his vision sharpens and he chokes out a gasp.

 

“Vayne Solidor,” Reks groans. The Archadian and the Judge from Bur-Omisace stand before him; he wonders where Vaan is. He hopes his brother ran.

 

The Judge grips his neck and lifts him from the ground with ease. He can’t breathe, and he chokes shallowly as he desperately tries to break free. His hearing fades out and it is as though he is underwater. Just when he is sure he’ll die like this, the Judge drops him.

 

It is Vaan, and he is waving his free arm up and down, the other in Vayne’s tight grip. He’s screaming something at the Archadian but Reks can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart. Reks needs to tell Vaan to run, to escape, but only a pained groan escapes his mouth.

 

They are leaving; Vayne is taking his brother away. No, no, it cannot be.

 

“Please,” he begs, because there is no limit to how far he would fall for his brother. Reks can’t move but tries to stumble towards them nonetheless. “Please… Please, he’s all I have left.”

 

Even Vayne must understand; even he cannot be heartless enough to take Vaan away.

 

But the bastard doesn’t even deign to face him as he lies beaten on the desert sands. “My apologies,” Vayne says with his poisoned tongue. “But for too long has my life been plagued by darkness for me to give up this light.”

 

“No, please,” Reks gasps, as they disappear deeper into the desert, where Reks knows a Skyship lies waiting.

 

He screams and tries to catch them, only for a sharp kick to his stomach leaves him reeling. The Judge crouches next to him, pressing a firm, gloved hand on his shoulder and keeping him down.

 

“Look Boy,” he orders sharply. “If you value your life, I suggest you forget your brother. Pretend he died with the plague.”

 

Then the Judge is gone with a swish of his cape, dropping a heavy pouch on Reks’ back as he leaves.

 

It is over; he has lost everything.

 

Reks wants to scream, to run after them, but his battered body refuses to listen to him and he falls into oblivion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I am still not completely happy with this version either but I don’t think I’ll ever be fully happy..... Anyways, it’s the return of A Single Grain!! The new and hopefully improved version!! I hope this prologue flows a little better and Vayne’s weirdness isn’t completely left field because now we know Vayne’s been coming by!!
> 
> I also changed it to make teleportation stones more exclusive! Only for the hunters!! And only the elite ones too haha
> 
> But there are some mysteries right off the bat! Very exciting!! Who is Istahar?? Why does Venat/Cid/Vayne want someone that is related to her?!?!? OOOOOOO – you won’t get to know til WAY later!!! ;)
> 
> Thank you for Reading!!
> 
> Leave a comment~~ Let’s have a discussion! :D My favourite part of building this story! I love to hear what you think!


	2. Prologue Part 2- Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is young; he is nothing. But unless Reks can become someone soon, there is no hope at all for Vaan’s safe return. Year 702 – 704 Old Valendian of Reks’ life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** One glaring grammer problem edited right near the end on April 5. 
> 
> Hello! :) Thank you again for commenting and for leaving kudos! And also for your patience! :) I got a new job, and they gave me more hours than I could handle so it took awhile…. Also, it was an interesting experience reading old(er) writings- who doesn’t need to be embarrassed by their past selves? 
> 
> A few events that occur later in the story will be changed to make a more consistent characterization, game logic vs character/novel logic! 
> 
> 7600 words (original) vs 13300 words! I have added a lot in this prologue…. Just extra scenes that hopefully made the plot better! 
> 
> Now, to the good stuff!!
> 
> Chapter Notes/Warnings: Implied Underage, implied slavery, Minor Character death, betrayal(!), foreshadowing, non-descriptive torture, world building, profanities, etc.

_Estersand, Kingdom of Dalmasca, Year 702 Old Valendian_

It is never a good sign to find a body in the sand dunes. It implies danger, or an enemy at hand. Trist mutters a curse before crouching next to the boy, his body half buried by the wind-blown sand.

 

“Damn,” he says in a soft tone, furrowing his brows at the dark bruising around the boy’s neck after he manages to dust the sand off. The boy’s pale hair is stained dark with blood, the result of a cut on the back of his head. A careful search through the sands recovers a fat purse, almost full to bursting with gil. “Oh shit.”

 

This entire situation reeks of the illicit, of unlawful activities. Trist glances at the boy’s fair face, and the bruises on his neck and torso, and shakes his head at the sight. He cannot help but assume the worst and is momentarily distracted by his concern for his younger sister.

 

With a sigh, Trist turns to the direction Ram and Penelo have gone. “Ram! Get over here! We got a body!”

_***_

_A greatsword studded with pale green gems and inlaid with a golden trim glows faintly against the darkened room._

_Frightening – why should such a thing produce light?_

_The room has no windows or doors- none that can be seen. A prison? He can hear voices- muffled- perhaps behind a wall, but cannot make out the words._

_Enemies. They are no voices of friends._

_The sword glows brighter, to the point it is painful to look directly at the light. The light, it is sentient. It pulls at his arms, dragging him ever closer to the blade._

_Something is afoot- something unnatural- something dangerous._

_“My child. Do not fear me, for I am here to guide and to protect.”_

_The words bring no calm.  There is no relief; there is nothing but pain that twists his body._

_***_

_Rabanastre, Year 702 Old Valendian_

 

Reks wakes with a start, biting down a scream that threatens to overwhelm him. It had been a dream, and yet the pain had been real.

 

The fear had been real.

 

Reks studies the room he’s awakened in, finding himself relaxing when it is nothing like the prison in his dream. He’s in a bed, larger and softer than his own at home, and he can hear the bustle of the bazaar from the open window. Glancing down, he finds his injured stomach wrapped in bandages, and when he puts a hand on his forehead, he feels soft cloth, another bandage no doubt.

 

“Vaan?” he calls out, hoping desperately that his brother had escaped and brought Reks to this place. A place of healing by the smell of it- the scent of potions and herbs permeate the room.

 

But it is not to be. His call is answered, but not by his brother. The door opens to reveal a young girl about Vaan’s age, with pale blonde hair tied into braids. She carries a jug of water carefully, making sure to step slowly as to avoid a spill.

 

“Oh, you’re awake,” she says with a grin, placing the water on a small table beside the bed. “I’ll go get mama. There’s a cup beside you- have some water while you wait.”

 

Reks glances over at the bedside table and finds a clay cup. He doesn’t bother with it however, taking long gulps of water from the jug directly. He can feel his head pounding, a result of dehydration from being in direct sunlight too long; he’ll need as much water as he can.

 

The girl’s name is Penelo, she tells him, once she and an older woman who can only be her mother comes up to greet him with matching smiles. She and her two older brothers had been out herb collecting for her mother when they had found him, bleeding from his head and unconscious.

 

“You gave poor Penelo quite a fright!” the woman comments with a shake of her head. She introduces herself as Galis and gives him a bitter tea to drink that will help him with the pain from his various injuries.

 

“Where am I?” Reks asks, though he is sure he must still be in Rabanastre, must be near the Muthru Bazaar.

 

“At our house,” Penelo answers, quite unhelpfully.

 

“In Rabanastre,” Galis adds with another smile. “I’m actually a healer at a clinic nearby, but I procure specialized potions for patients in my spare time, which was why my children were off in the desert today.”

 

“Was there someone else? Maybe brought with me? Or did anyone come looking for me?” Reks asks, glancing down at the soft blankets. “I wasn’t out there alone.”

 

When Reks brings his head up to meet Galis’ eyes, the woman’s expression is one of pity. “I’m sorry,” she replies with a shake of her head. “There was no one else. None my children found.”

 

Reks pushes himself out of the bed and begins to make his way to the door, holding his arm against his injured side.

 

“You should stay a little longer,” Galis says, but refrains from attempting to physically stop him. “At the very least, until the tea does its work; you’ll be better off.”

 

Reks shakes his head. “It’s not that bad,” he answers, trying to hide how much pain he is actually in. “I need to go.”

 

He forces himself to walk down the stairs without flinching. The hushed discussion that seemed to have been taking place downstairs stops abruptly when the other occupants catch sight of Reks. Three men, a father and his two sons, turn to face Reks as he makes his way down. The sudden stop to their conversation makes it obvious who the topic of their discussion was.

 

“I thought you’d still be down for the count,” the eldest of the three say. “Ram was just telling me that your injuries were substantial. I am Benino- welcome to our home.”

 

“I’m Reks,” he replies. He turns to the two younger men and bows. “Thank you for your help. I assume you were the ones that found me?”

 

“That’s us,” the taller one, the one with hair in a darker shade of blond, says with a wave. “I’m Trist, and that’s my brother Ram. And you’ve already met Penelo. You looked much worse when we found you- I haven’t got the head for magick, so we had Ram do the best he could before carrying you back to the city.”

 

Reks thinks Trist must be the friendly brother. Ram- the stockier, frowning man with blond hair shorn short to his scalp- simply nods at his brother’s introduction and says nothing else.

 

“I… I only know the most rudimentary white magick,” Ram says after a moment; perhaps he is just shy. He does not face Reks directly, which makes Reks wonder even more if the man is uncomfortable with speaking to strangers. “I wasn’t able to… check you for… for internal injuries.”

 

Reks’ brows rise at the words. He presses a hand on his bruised torso. “Well, I have some bruises, but I think that’s the worst of it,” he replies.

 

“Oh good, we- we were worried about that,” Trist says with a relieved sigh.

 

“Did you find any items near me?” Reks asks. “Any footprints? Tracks?”

 

“We found that- right next to you,” Trist answers, nodding towards a large satchel on a small table by the kitchen. “Is it yours?”

 

The bag is unfamiliar, but Reks still makes his way over to glance inside. The bag is filled to the brim with gil. He clenches his hand into a fist, pulling his hand away as if burned. Reks feels as though his guts are twisting in his body.

 

What is this? Compensation? As though Vaan can be bought and sold like a cockatrice? Just the idea of taking the satchel of gil makes Reks want to vomit, for what it represents.

 

“This- This isn’t mine,” Reks says with a shake of his head.

 

Whatever Trist is going to say is cut off by the arrival of Galis hurrying down the stairs, a small packet in her hand. The woman looks relieved when she catches sight of Reks.

 

“I thought you may have already left,” she says with a relieved sigh, carrying the small bundle of herbs. “Good job keeping him here honey!”

 

Benino smiles in that dumb manner all men in love tend to do. “No problem dear!” he replies before enveloping his wife in his arms. They giggle like children while the brothers roll their eyes at the sight.

 

Reks hides a smile behind his hand; his parents had been that stupidly affectionate to each other as well.

 

Trist shakes his head before taking the small bag from his mother and passing it to Reks. “It’s just tea; it’ll make you feel better though.”

 

“Thank you,” Reks says, pocketing the item. The dried herbs crackle as they are shoved inside his pants pocket. He bows again at the family.

 

“Thank you again. For all your help,” he says before gesturing to the satchel of gil. “The gil. You should keep it. It wouldn’t be right for me to take it.”

 

That would be letting Vayne Solidor win.

 

Benino’s eyes widen at his words. “But it’s so much. Take at least a bit,” he says. “I know my wife healed you, but it doesn’t cost that much to go to a healer!”

 

“I will not take a single gil from there,” Reks says with finality. “I’ll be heading off now.”

 

“You live in Rabanastre?” Trist asks. “Not a nomad or anything?”

 

“Oh yes, I live in the city,” he replies. “Near the Southern Plaza.”

 

“That’s quite a ways away,” Galis comments before tapping Trist on the shoulder. “Accompany him there Trist! He’s still not completely well! What if he falls and injures himself again?”

 

Reks bristles at the words. “I’m quite capable of walking back myself.”

 

Who does this woman think she is? His mother?

 

“I want to go too!” Penelo says with a wave of her hand, disregarding Reks’ protest. He hadn’t even noticed the girl.

 

“If his place is near the Southern plaza, we can drop off those items for Migelo on our way back,” Ram adds with a shrug.

 

“You really don’t have to come with me, I’m not going to collapse,” Reks mutters.

 

“I want to. I love exploring the city!” Penelo shoots back with a smile. Reks has dealt with enough stubborn children to admit defeat and simply nods in acceptance. He’s exhausted by their energy.

 

Reks, followed by Penelo and her brothers, exit the home to the bustle of bazaar. Ram and Trist each carry a large bag of herbs for Migelo over their shoulders.

 

“Good thing you didn’t argue back,” Trist says with a carefree laugh, once they’ve entered the busy street. “You wouldn’t have heard the end of it from my mother.”

 

“What are they?” Reks asks, nodding at their cargo in an attempt to move away from the topic.

 

“Echo herbs,” Ram says after a pause. “She dries them herself and they tend to be more potent than those traditionally sold in the market.”

 

“It’s a family business then?” Reks says, keeping his steps slow to allow Penelo to tag along.

 

“Oh no,” Trist replies with another laugh. “I can’t imagine working for my mother every day! I’d die from exhaustion! No, my brother and I are back home for leave for a few weeks.”

 

“They’re in the Royal Dalmascan army!” Penelo says proudly, walking with a skip in her steps. “They’re teaching me how to defend myself!”

 

Reks nods in response and doesn’t ask anything else, though he does wonder what a little girl like her could even learn. The rest of the walk is quiet, with only Penelo asking questions that Reks answers with as little words as possible. Ram opens his mouth a few times to say something but shakes his head a moment later, choosing instead to speak only to his brother. Not that Reks minds. He doesn’t have the energy to humour anyone in conversation. He thanks them when they arrive at his apartment building and he leaves without hearing their response.

 

He needs to get home, to be by himself.

 

Once he arrives, he collapses into a chair. The mask of calm he’s kept shatters and he screams into his hands, crying for the first time since his parents’ death.

 

“Vaan,” he cries into his arms. “What am I supposed to do now? I-What can I do?”

 

He spends the next hour like this, frozen in his grief.

 

***

 

Reks breathes slowly, trying to regain his calm. Vaan isn’t dead; he still has a chance to get him back. He needs to find a way to travel, to get information. He cannot afford to act like a sullen child.

 

While he is still wracking his head, his traitorous stomach grumbles, and Reks sighs to himself. Even with his brother missing, he cannot ignore his bodily needs. He can’t stand to stay in these rooms for a second longer and he leaves for the Sandsea for a cheap meal.

 

Reks doesn’t know what he was expecting. Just because his world has shifted, doesn’t mean the rest of Rabanastre did too. Still, when he arrives at the Sandsea Reks is disappointed to find that everything is the same as it always is. Vaan’s disappearance has changed nothing here. 

 

He orders whatever is cheap and filling, and is half-heartedly picking at his meal when he sees the Notice Board by the entrance. It comes to him then; hunters! They are able to move freely from country to country to find petitioners, needing very little paperwork for travel, and they are able to gather information through their networks. The higher ranking one is as a hunter, the greater the agency in any country- the greater the network of informants.

 

Reks shovels the rest of his food, throws the gils down on the table and runs out.

 

He needs to get some input on his idea. And he owes it to Moniq to explain the situation to her.

 

***

 

After himself, Moniq is the one that cares for Vaan the most. After her brother’s death, she brought Vaan under her wing and looked after him when Reks was too tired or busy with work.

 

When Reks walks in to Moniq’s workshop, the red skinned Bangaa is finishing a beautiful hair net, small clear crystals hanging like rain droplets on a thin silver wire. Her smile at his entrance changes to one of shock when she catches sight of his face.

 

“You look terrible,” Moniq says in the blunt way she always speaks, putting the net down on a mannequin head and standing to face him. “Good god, what happened to you?! You need to go to a healer! Look at your face.”

 

“I’ve already been to a healer,” he says with a shake of his head. “Moniq, I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

 

Reks tries to keep his voice calm, but can’t stop the sharp hitch in his voice when he says, “It’s Vaan… I… Moniq-”

 

He loses all semblance of calm when the Bangaa places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Moniq, he’s gone. What am I supposed to do now?!” he murmurs, tangling his fingers into his white hair.

 

Moniq directs him to her workspace and pushes him into her seat. She goes to lock the doors to the shop, knowing that the conversation is private. “You are not making any sense here,” she says, her voice calm despite how her hands are clenched tightly. “Start from the beginning.”

 

He doesn’t tell her the whole truth, because dropping Vayne Solidor’s name is a recipe for disaster. And the truth is so absurd that even Reks feels the plot is out of a mummer’s play. But he does tell her that Vaan was taken away by an Archadian while they had been out in the Estersands. The Jeweller remains quiet during his explanation, stopping him only to pass a handkerchief to him when his sniffles become louder.

 

“That friend of his no doubt,” Reks mutters, once he’s connected the dots together. “I knew I should have demanded to at least meet him.”

 

Moniq shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I was the one who told you to leave it,” she says with a sigh. “How could I have known Vaan would associate himself with someone so mad?”

 

Rek wipes his nose against the handkerchief. “You couldn’t have known.”

 

“Neither could you,” Moniq says. “So, what do you plan on doing?”

 

“I want to find him. No, I will find him,” Reks says with strength he doesn’t feel. “I was thinking of becoming a hunter; if I travel around long enough, maybe I can get something, some information for why that deranged man took my brother.”

 

“You are a little young,” Moniq comments with a frown. “I don’t know… You don’t even know how to fight! Do you even know how the Hunter system works?”

 

“I can learn,” Reks says with determination. “I’m fast learner, you know that.”

 

“What of armour and weapons?” she asks, crossing her thick arms in front of her. “It is not cheap to start.”

 

“I’ll move to a place that’s cheaper, maybe Lowtown, since I won’t be there as often if I’m travelling,” he answers, his mind already turning. “I still have some money that I was going to pay you for the next three months of Vaan’s apprenticeship… And Marks, they pay too, right?”

 

Moniq sighs as though tired by his insistence. “If you don’t know that hunts pay, maybe you shouldn’t be a hunter. Traders make money too, they travel too- ask that hume employer of yours to see if you can be part of the caravan.”

 

“That won’t be fast enough!” Reks argues back, crossing his arms. “The caravans only stay in the area of their trade route. I need to be able to expand my search as much as I can. Besides, do you know how slow they are? They’re weighed down by the goods!”

 

Moniq frowns at the words. “Wait here,” she says after a moment of silence, standing from her seat. “I’ll be right back. There’s some iced tea in the kitchen if you’d like. Some stew too- you know where everything is, why do I bother telling you?”

 

She leaves with a wave, disappearing into the crowds that still persist in the Bazaar despite the late hour. He meanders back to the apartment at the back of the shop, grabbing a cup of the aforementioned iced tea and a starfruit from her kitchen before returning to watch Moniq’s shop.

 

No one enters the shop, not even after he’s finished eating the starfruit. So Reks amuses himself by practicing some magick; training that had long been put aside to care for his brother. He hadn’t learned much, only a simple cure and fire spell from his mother before his life had turned sideways. The first casting of cure is weak, barely enough to even feel like a magick spell, but the next couple are successful, the calm of white magick settling on his skin.

 

Moniq arrives with a Bangaa with pale orange scales that scowls at Reks when he sees the hume. “You can’t possibly be serious cousin!” the strange Bangaa says with a growl. “I mean- he’s so frail! Even for hume standards! Look at him! He looks like a good gust of wind would bowl him over!”  

 

Reks gasps in offense at the words, slamming his fists on the table. “I am not!”

 

The Bangaa looks unconvinced and even Moniq shakes her head lightly. The Bangaa scoffs. “I could break your legs with a single swipe of my hand, you’re so weak.”

 

Moniq takes that moment to slap the back of the other Bangaa’s head. “But you won’t,” she says with a growl before turning to Reks. “I apologize for this idiot. This is Monid – My cousin.”

 

Reks glares at Monid, who in turn does not bother to hide a sneer. “What’s he doing here?” Reks mutters.

 

“He’s a hunter, a damn good one at that,” Moniq replies. “At the very least, before you go gallivanting off to be a hunter, I thought it’d do you good to speak to Monid and get some training.”

 

Reks perks at the words, knowing that there is very little he understands about hunting marks. Any help would be greatly appreciated, even from such a reluctant source.

 

Monid grumbles to himself, and Moniq hisses a reply in a language Reks doesn’t understand. A Bangaa dialect perhaps. Though Reks cannot understand the words, by the general tone it is clear Moniq is reprimanding her cousin.

 

“Bah!” Monid says, though with less aggression than previously. “Well… That boy does certainly need as much help as he can get. He leaves the way he is now, he’ll be killed as quickly as a Giza hare in the Feywood.”

  
“You’ll help me then?” Reks asks, still wary of Monid.

 

“I’m not going to hold your hand like a stupid mother cockatrice- but I’ll help you with just the basics,” he grumbles. “Only for a week. We get through what we get through, and then you go prove to me you’re worthy of being called a hunter.”

 

Moniq doesn’t look happy at the words but nods in acceptance. “Fine,” she says. “Come by tomorrow. It is too late tonight.”

 

“Make sure he has some supplies at least,” Monid says at the door, halfway out of the house. “I’ll come by around mid-day?”

“You come in the morning, like civilized folks,” Moniq replies sharply.

***

Moniq herds Reks into a guest room once she has fully closed for the night, and he does not fight her. He’d rather not be at his apartment tonight, with nothing but his thoughts for company.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Reks says once he has settled in, slumping against a pillow. “I’m sure he’s busy.”

 

Moniq shrugs. “He’s not busy at all. Half the time he’s loafing around in the city,” she replies. “We’ll go get you some armour in the morning before he shows up, maybe- actually, it’s probably better if Monid goes with you. Anyways, I’d like for you to get some experience hunting before you decide to move everything down to Lowtown. And get some weapons training – that little dagger of yours can’t do very much.”

 

“Thank you Moniq,” Reks says. “I’ll pay you back for this.”

 

Moniq shakes her head. “I am tied down to the city and there is very little I can do to change that. But if we are to succeed in getting Vaan back, one of us has to be mobile,” she says. “Though I wish you’d reconsider joining a caravan, if you insist on becoming a hunter, at least learn from the best.”

 

***

 

Monid keeps his word, though he grumbles the whole way through. A week is not enough time to learn magicks or technicks, even if Monid had the abilities so that he could teach Reks. Instead, the Bangaa focuses on the basics of hunting- how to secure a hunt, to find petitioners, to track beasts. He gives Reks a clan primer, to organize his hunts and to gain knowledge of the common flora and fauna in a given area. He helps Reks pick a weapon suited to his novice status, and the best armour that his limited budget can afford.

 

“You’re too young to do this,” he say, the third time in a day, shaking his head. “Still wet behind the ears.”

 

Reks glares from the mithril blade he is examining. “And I’m telling you, you can’t change my mind,” he replies with a shrug, already used to Monid’s sharp way of speaking. It’s quite similar to Moniq’s speech pattern. “So you might as well just help me without complaint.”

 

It ends the discussion; Monid almost looks proud at the fact that Reks fought back. But then he is back to being the gruff, grumbling Bangaa. The hunter takes him out to the desert, to teach him how to use his environment to his benefit, how to identify weaknesses of monsters, and how to block and defend.

 

At the end of Reks’ last day of training, for Monid must set off in the morning to track his own mark- the Bangaa makes a noise of approval.

 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Monid mutters. “But I have to acknowledge your perseverance. You went through the training surprisingly well.”

 

“I’ll take that compliment,” Reks says with a smile, still uncomfortable with wielding the longsword.

 

“Still far from being a hunter worthy of the name,” the Bangaa replies, crossing his arms. “But at the very least, I think a rank I or II should be alright for you to handle.”

 

Monid’s vote of confidence, despite how gruffly it is given, gives Reks the last push to start his hunting career.

 

***

 

When he goes to buy potions, he bumps into Penelo and Galis; they had been over to trade goods with Migelo, the sundries shop owner. They give him several potions as well as some echo herbs, antidotes and phoenix downs when they hear about his plans of being a hunter.

 

“Are you quite sure though?” Galis asks, as she hands over the items. When he had offered to pay her for the items, she had laughed, mentioning the sack of gil that he left behind. “You are quite young; do you have any form of training?”

 

“A bit,” Reks replies, placing the goods in his satchel. He’s only had some basic training to defend himself for if he were to ever be attacked by thieves while trading; the week with Monid honed what little he remembered. The magick, rudimentary it may be, will also help him. “Thank you for the potions.”

 

The first hunt he takes is a level I mark, the lowest ranking for any hunt; it takes him back to Nabudis, where a woman wants some sort of fish creature killed and her ring it stole returned.

 

He stops by Khala’s place to buy a lightening spell scroll, since he knows that the creature is weak to lightening. When Khala asks about Vaan, Reks says that he’s gone missing and he is looking for him. He tries to give the Nu-mou enough information for him to know the full story without mentioning the Solidor prince. Khala promises to keep an eye out for Vaan and even promises Brisin’s services though the sky pilot isn’t there.

 

He also suggests writing to Brisin, as Reks is preparing to leave. “Though he doesn’t mention it, Brisin truly appreciates the letters you send,” Khala says, as he packages the scroll. “As do I. I am just a letter away if you need any help!”  

 

Reks promises to keep in touch, feeling guilty about avoiding it so far. He had a hard time writing to them since Vaan’s abduction. As he leaves the city, Reks reads over the lightening scroll, learning the magick as he meanders over to where the fish has been spotted. Its casting is similar to the fire spell, which allows him to learn the spell that much quicker.

 

The creatures he faces are not very strong so he is able to stumble through each battle. With the area being so close to the city, most of the higher ranking monsters have already been taken care of by the royal guards.

 

The hunt is a rousing success, thanks to the thunder spell. He even manages to pluck one of its scales before the fish is killed, retaining its iridescent shine. He slits the fish’s stomach open with the dagger he has on hand to find the woman’s ring and returns to the petitioner for his reward.

 

He is paid 700 gil and an ether- which restores his lowered mana. Reks is also able to sell the scale to an artisan that wants to use the scale as lining on a mirror.

 

He doesn’t get any news of Vaan, but he garners some interesting gossip about Nabradia’s eldest prince’s secret affairs. Three women at once?! How is that possible? Those royals are truly a different breed.

 

His first hunt gives Reks confidence that this career is the right choice and that he will eventually get the information he needs.

 

*** 

 

Reks’ second hunt brings him back to Rabanastre, where the petitioner is waiting in the Sandsea tavern.

 

The man is a merchant whose goods are being held up because the caravaners fear an attack from something called a Linder Wolf, whose aggressive nature has sprung forth due to mating season. He notices the barkeep listening in with interest but ignores it. The man is probably just bored out of his mind in the tavern.

 

Before setting off, Reks goes to buy some more potions and bumps into Penelo; they exchange pleasantries and he learns that Ram has moved up in rank. He also purchases an assassin’s dagger, which is coated with a fine layer of poison that has a chance to knock out an enemy; he hopes the Linder Wolf will be susceptible to it.

 

He walks to the Westersands, where the winds have thankfully died down, leaving him with a clear view of the area. The petitioner had told him that it would be near the southern region of Galtea Downs, and Reks doesn’t have to look hard to locate it.

 

The wolf is enormous, its firey red pelt bright against the pale sand. He casts blizzard on it and it seems to do some sort of damage but not enough. He unsheathes his longsword, checks that his assassin’s dagger is within easy reach and prepares for a difficult battle.

 

Reks hacks at the beast a couple times with the longsword before switching to the assassin’s dagger; with some open wounds, the poison is more likely to work. The first three tries yields no results but when Reks stabs the beast for a fourth time, it goes down into a poisoned slumber. He uses his longsword to stab it through the heart and he takes one of its fangs as proof. Unfortunately, the hide and pelt are too damaged to be of any value to sell. He casts cure on himself and opts to save his potions for when cure will not be enough.

 

***

 

The merchant is delighted when he hears of the wolf’s demise, and gives Reks 450 gil and a whetstone his shop is importing in from Rozzaria; the whetstone is made of a dense golden-hued stone and something Reks would never be able to afford on his own. The petitioner declines to keep the fang and also gives it to Reks. More gil for him, Reks supposes.

 

When he is about to leave, Reks is stopped by the barkeep. “You boy, you a hunter?” he asks, walking up to block Reks’ way.

 

“Who’s asking?” Reks replies, narrowing his eyes at the man.

 

“Apologies. I am Tomaj,” the hume replies, fiddling with his ridiculous scarf. “And you must be very new at this hunting thing.”

 

“How would you know?” Reks asks with a scoff, planning to leave the strange hume.

 

“I know pretty much all the hunters that come in and out of Rabanastre,” Tomaj says. “And your face is new. I’ve seen you before, but I’ve never seen you take such interest in the notice board til now.”

 

“If I were serious about being a hunter,” Tomaj advises, voice deceptively nonchalant. “I’d take this friendly suggestion from this handsome barkeep. In front of a building in the north end, there is a Bangaa standing in front of it; go visit him, and show him your clan primer. He’ll let you in.”

 

“But why would I want to do that?” Reks asks, already confused by the situation.

 

“It’s advice,” Tomaj replies with a shrug. “One I’d take for sure though.”

 

It is such strange counsel that Reks takes it; it won’t kill him to give the Bangaa a visit. He enters into the hall to see numerous hunters, some simply talking, others training with each other. Reks goes to the top, where the leader, a small moogle, watches everything.

 

Just talking to the moogle, Monteblanc, gets Reks into Clan Centurio, a exclusive clan of hunters that specialize hunting “elite marks,” monsters stronger than most. He wonders if it’s this easy to get in for everyone.

 

Entering the clan turns out to be an excellent move. Reks meets Monid again and the Bangaa agrees to teach him some more hand to hand combat in return for Reks stopping Moniq from trying to set him up with someone.

 

“She doesn’t care about that,” Reks comments when he hears what Monid wants in return.

 

Monid’s expression turns glacial. “She doesn’t want kids, but she wants everyone around her to have some,” he mutters. “Believe me when I say she has put the pressure on me for quite some time. And if anyone can stop her, it’s you.”

 

Monid also introduces Reks to his friends, a young hume couple named Siri and Moqu. They agree to teach him sword techniques and magicks in return for Reks taking care of their toddler son once in a while. Thanks to their tutelage, pretty soon Reks becomes quite proficient in both weaponry and magicks.

 

Ma’kenroh, yet another member of the clan, gathers information for the Centurio and Reks learns of some interesting things. Nothing quite concrete about Vaan but he keeps everything filed away. Reks feels comfortable around him because he reminds Reks of Khala, both being Nu-mou.

 

His popularity as a hunter grows and soon Reks is getting personal requests for hunts. His information network also grows more and more and he is hopeful that Vaan will come back home soon.

 

***

 

Brisin’s first letter post-Vaan is surprisingly abrupt, simply requesting that Reks stay in Rabanastre for the next week. But he has a short hunt in the Giza that needs to be completed before the rains come and the mark leaves for drier lands.  

 

When Reks returns to his apartment in the city- he still hasn’t had the time to move down to Lowtown yet- he finds the pilot sitting on his couch.

 

Reks shrieks and throws his blade at the intruder, which Brisin catches easily. “What are doing in my apartment?” Reks shouts, eyes darting around in an attempt to figure out how he got inside.

 

“I told you to stay in the city for the week!” Brisin says in response, annoyance clear on his face. “I wasted three days here waiting for you!”

 

“Oh, and I’m just full of free time?” Reks mutters before getting back on topic. “How did you even get in here?!”

 

Brisin scoffs, flicking a wrist as he shrugs. “That lock on your door is a disgrace,” he replies. He shakes his head as he sighs. “I didn’t come here to fight you. I came to talk to you about what you are trying to do.”

 

Reks brings a chair over from the table, taking a seat across from the Landissir. “You- you know where Vaan is?” he asks, shucking his travelling bag aside. “You know how to get him back?”

 

Brisin presses a hand against his forehead, taking a deep breath as he closes his eyes. “What I got from Khala was very little; you’ve said pretty much nothing!” he says as he sighs again. “But from what I’ve managed to gather… Reks, I’m sorry lad, you won’t find Vaan.”

 

It is as though Brisin has taken a dagger and stabbed him in the chest, twisting the blade deeper with each word. Reks shakes his head, biting his lips to keep from screaming.

 

“You- you’re wrong,” he says, squeezing his hands together to hide their tremble. “I can find him. I just need to find a way to get to the man.”

 

Brisin’s eyes are pained as he looks at Reks’ desperation to convince him. “No, Reks. Even if you find the sick bastard that took your brother, it won’t mean a damn thing,” the Landissir says.

 

When Reks begins to repeat his words, Brisin slams his fist on the stand beside the couch, silencing Reks with the sound.

 

“Wealthy men do not kidnap children for the purpose of keeping them, especially after allowing a witness to live,” Brisin states, his green eyes darkened with anger. “They take those children and they sell them off to someone else. And they leave no trail.”

 

Reks cannot help the choked sound that comes out of throat. “That’s insane. It wasn’t a slaver that took Vaan!” he says in a voice choked with disgust. “How could you think that?”

 

The Landissir throws his hands in the air at Reks’ words. “ _Everyone_ thinks that! There’s no other explanation! Not based on what we’ve been told!” he replies, his tone keeping Reks quiet. “The goddess above, all we’ve been told is that Vaan was taken by a wealthy Archadian! Of course everyone will think that! That Bangaa woman; when I talked to her, you know what she said to me? She said, at the very least, Reks wasn’t taken as well!”  

 

“I know what I know, you weren’t there,” Reks says. “He wouldn’t have let Vaan be taken somewhere else. He didn’t just pick Vaan for the sake of it- there was something more.”

 

Brisin breathes slowly through his nose, calming himself down. “I can’t help you if I am missing something important,” he says with a hiss. “So what the hell is it that you know that we don’t? What makes you so sure that he would keep Vaan?”

 

“You don’t understand, you didn’t hear what he said to me, about how important Vaan was,” Reks mutters, glancing away from the other man. “He wouldn’t risk himself just for some gil.”

 

Brisin raises a brow at the words, looking unconvinced. “Well, who was it?” he asks. “Wouldn’t _risk_ himself? What the hell does that mean?”

 

“It was-” Vayne Solidor. Two words, but Reks cannot voice them; the name remains choked in his throat.

 

“It was what?” Brisin says, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning against the back of the couch. The Landissir’s face is one of frustration and confusion.

 

“It… It was a Judge,” Reks replies at last, in a murmur. Even a Judge is a better choice to say than Vayne Solidor; they are terrifying, but they are not untouchable. Not like how the Solidor seems to be.  

 

“Shit, what?” Brisin says, his shoulders hunching at Reks’ words, as though he is protecting himself from some invisible foe. “Are you messing with me?”

 

The Landissir groans at Reks’ silence. “Of course you wouldn’t. Of course, of all the people in Ivalice, it had to be a damn Judge,” he mutters to himself before meeting Reks’ eyes. “You remember what he looked like?”

 

“He was wearing the helm, I never got to see his face,” Reks replies, slumping in his seat. “But the helm itself, it had two horns curling down from the side, like a ram.”

 

Brisin runs a hand down his face. “A fuc- damn Judge,” he says. He then turns to Reks, shaking his head, a forlorn expression on his face. “Reks, lad… I have to be honest with you. I don’t know if there is anything we can do. I know that you have this hope that you can find and liberate Vaan-”

 

“And I can. If I try hard enough,” Reks adds, cutting the Landissir off. “Great things can be achieved when you believe. Great thing can be achieved through determination.”

 

Brisin’s expression of surprise changes into a smile, but there is something bitter underlying the gesture. “Underneath that jaded exterior, you’ve somehow managed to keep the heart of a child, haven’t you?” he comments with a smile that is both fond and bitter. “How nice.”

 

Reks frowns at Brisin’s tone. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” he mutters, glaring at the other man. “Are you not going to help me? Because, you think it’s hopeless?”

 

“No lad, I never said that,” Brisin replies. “I just thought you were completely pragmatic- zero optimism! But here you are, so full of hope, thinking you can beat a Judge and get everything back the way it was.”

 

Brisin stands from his seat, placing his hands on Reks’ shoulders. “I promise you I will do my damn best to help you as much as I can,” he says, face serious once more. “But I cannot guarantee anything not with something like this.”

 

Reks bites his lips then nods in acceptance. “That’s all I can ask for at this point.”

 

The lie is small but it still leaves Reks with a heavy weight in his gut.

 

***

 

He takes some time off from hunting to go to Bur-Omisace, the same time he did the previous year, but instead of going with his brother, he goes alone. With him he brings two Galbana Lillies, packed tightly against several sunstones. But, that is not all he brings this year; Reks also packs some magicites that he has collected throughout his travels, as well as some old blankets and cloaks he collected from other hunters. Water magicites can be used to purify the putrid wells in the camps, and fire from fire magicites retains heat longer than simple wood fires. The blankets and cloaks are still useable, some of them are almost new- many hunters tend to leave behind much of their supplies when they return from a hunt, usually due to the fact that it is worth more to carry loot from the mark and buy new supplies than to leave behind loot so that they can keep their blankets and camping items.  

 

Reks makes his way to a part of the refugee camps called Landis Lane, aptly named as it mostly houses members of the former Republic of Landis. There are people here that have been born in the camps, or have spent most of their lives on Mt. Bur-Omisace. He chooses to donate the goods to the Acolytes in Landis Lane. They do not get as much funds as other camps on the mountain, and he feels a connection to them. After all, Brisin is from Landis. Reks spends several days there, helping fix tents, and providing healing with his white magick. It’s not very much, but it’s at least something.

 

Reks then goes on top of the Dragon head, to plant his Galbana lilies, right next to the two that were planted the year before. 

 

“I kept our promise; I’ll keep bringing them until… until you can join me,” he says to the orange blossoms, tapping the dirt down with his hands. “And I’ll keep this one too, Vaan; I’ll bring you back, I promise.”

 

***

 

_Nabudis, Royal Capital of Nabradia_ _, Year 703 Old Valendian_

 

The Prancing Chocobo is bustling with people, and Reks smiles as the gils in his pouch clinks; he will eat well tonight.

 

It is just when he is finishing his meal that he hears an interesting conversation at the corner table next to him.

 

“Aye, radiant like the sun, Vayne’s girl,” one man says before laughing drunkenly to his drink. “Heard she’s not Archadian though, what a shame.”

 

“With hair like that, of course not!” the other hume says. “Like spun gold, my brother says!”

 

They are Archadian merchants, if their clothing is any indication, and they are drunk enough that Reks will be able to question them without problems. He slides out of his seat and waves a bar maid over before walking up and joining the three merchants.

 

“How about I buy a round, mates?” Reks says, slipping into an Archadian accent; it isn’t perfect, but for people this drunk, it does the trick. He passes some gils to the bar maid. “Whatever my friends want, good miss.”

 

It’s easy to draw them back into their conversation. Reks simply has to hum along at the appropriate times and the men spill what they know; Archadians love being the most knowledgeable in a conversation. The hardest part is to keep his face as wolfish as they talk about Vayne Solidor’s girl. A fair maiden with eyes like the sky and hair golden as the sun. The merchants get into an argument about where she hails from, though it matters less than the fact that she speaks in Commonborn, despite her status and rank. Reks makes non-committal noises while they cluck amongst themselves, desperate to be the one who knows the most.

 

The more they talk, the colder Reks feels himself getting, because what they are implying is something he cannot allow himself to think. Because Vaan is still  _so_ young and Vayne is so much older and it just cannot be.

 

By this time, Reks has had a couple to drink, not as much as the merchants to be sure, but the buzz is present.

 

One of them has had a bit too much to drink, to go as so far as to say what he says next. “But you know, I bet their sex life is something interesting,” he drawls, the filter between his brain and mouth long gone. To gossip about the Solidor’s private life so blatantly is dangerous. “With someone so exotic and all. Our birds, they just lie there like a dead fish!”

 

Reks slams his fists on that table as he stands abruptly.

 

“What’s with you?” one of them asks, furrowing his brows.

 

“Just a stomach ache,” Reks lies with a laugh. “Not used to Nabradia palate, you know.”

 

The others at the table laugh. “That’s true, mighty spicy stuff, the Nabradian fare.”

 

“Too much fish! Get me some good red meat!”

 

Reks weakly chuckles and flees to his room, before stumbling to the toilet to vomit.

 

He put his hands tight on each ear, feeling the shell shaped earring digging into the palm of his hands. “Oh God, oh god,” Reks groans, as he retches. “I’m too slow, Vaan. I’m too slow; I’ll be too late and you’ll be broken.”

 

Reks mutters nonsense into the toilet as he vomits his meal before stumbling drunkenly into the bed.

 

***

 

When he wakes up, Reks can’t help but laugh at his overreaction. He laughs at his drunken mind’s ability to connect all the wrong dots. He chuckles almost hysterically to himself because what was so distressing to him last night is finally the key piece of information he needs.

 

Vayne’s woman is a  _woman fully grown, if the merchants are to be believed,_  and Vaan is still just a boy; it is stupid of Reks to think it’d be the same person. But it finally explains why Vayne would want a Dalmascan slave.

 

The woman is most likely lonely; if how the men at the tavern were any indication, they only see her as some sort of exotic pet for the Archadian prince. How horrible. What a sad, friendless life she must live.

 

But would she ask for someone to be as chained as she is? The merchants had called her a pillar of hope to the average citizen, someone that embodied the virtues of charity. Would someone like that allow Vayne to enslave another?

 

 _If she was desperate enough; if she was lonely enough_. His mind supplies.

 

The woman seems reasonable though, willing to negotiate.

 

If Reks brought her enough gil, would she let Vaan go? If he promised to visit her so she won’t be so lonely, even if Vayne Solidor terrified him, would she give Vaan back?

 

Gil. He’ll need gil. The money is what will sway the woman.

 

There is a small part of him that continues to feel ill at ease, despite what he tells himself - that the woman and Vaan cannot be one and the same. It’s the dream, the nightmare that Reks had seen all those months ago, of a vast power, of unnatural metamorphosis.

 

But Reks buries the doubts- he has chosen the path he will take. There is no room for uncertainty now.  

 

***

 

Reks moves to Lowtown; he buys a small home in a hidden alcove of the area. There’s nothing much inside, a single bedroom on the bottom floor, and a small bathroom on the top floor. It doesn’t really matter, he bought the house for a single important reason; the house backs into the very walls of Lowtown. Reks could make a secret room but it’d look the same size from the outside.

 

Reks completes the work in secret, using a combination of spells including silence, fire, and blizzard. The false wall looks exactly like the rest and the door to the chamber is cleverly hidden by a combination of a bookshelf and vanish spell mote. The vanish spell is set to re-cast every time it wears off through the use of a specially made magicite; the magicite only lasts 6 months but Reks knows he will never be gone for that long and he can easily replace the magicite.    

 

Then he begins taking as many marks as he can; Reks accepts any hunt with high enough rewards. Then he stores the money he’s made in containers in the hidden room. Almost everything he makes goes in the cache and he hoards the gil almost obsessively. He buys cheap food, uses magick instead of potions, for magick power eventually regenerates again. He sleeps rarely in inns, opting to squat in camps when he can.

 

There are only two things he allows himself to splurge on. One is on his hunting gear, because having the best weapons and armour means that he can take better and stronger hunts. The other is Galbana Lillies. He hires a woman that lives in the village by the banks of Nebra to raise and care for a patch of Galbana Lillies. Reks always needs to have enough to take to Mount Bur-Omisace, after all.

 

There is a sense of urgency in the way he moves now; Reks needs to raise as much gil as possible, quickly. Who knows if or when Vayne will bring  _two_  Dalmascans to his bed instead of just the one?

 

***

 

Reks expects his birthday to pass without much fanfare; he has no brother to celebrate the day with, and he expects it to be simply another day. Instead, Moniq and Monid both stop by his house to give him a gift- a set of rings that have been charmed to protect against silence, the worst of all status ailments for a magick user like Reks. Moniq had designed and made the rings while Monid had paid for the commission of casting the charm. They are a sight to behold, the holy magicites cut in the shape of a wolf.  

 

They then drag him to Moniq’s home, where his friends from Clan Centurio, from his trade apprenticeship, and even from his travels, are all gathered to celebrate his birthday. Most of them brought food instead of gifts, but their presence alone is gift enough for Reks, who had expected a lonely birthday.

 

Brisin brings him a blade, lightweight but stronger than any other sword Reks has ever used. When he tests out the sword in the courtyard of Moniq’s house, he finds that the blade can cut through almost anything. It’s almost terrifying.

 

“It’s called Durandal,” Brisin says. “I commissioned the blade from an acquaintance of mine. One of the best swordsmiths in Ivalice.”

 

“It’s light, but its strength is enormous,” Reks comments, slicing through a wooden log that had been stacked on the side of the house for firewood. “It’s amazing.”

 

“It’s probably the ore used. One of the metals that was used to make the sword- I found it in a temple dedicated to an ancient water spirit,” Brisin replies with a grin, crossing his arms. “I had a feeling the metal would be useful.”

 

“You should have kept it for yourself,” Reks says when he hears the words. “It’s worth too much.”

 

The Landissir laughs, shaking his head. “What use would I have for a sword? As if I fight with such a thing,” he says with a laugh. “It’ll serve you better than me. After all, your goal is a Judge Magister.”

 

Reks glances over at the other man. “You know who he is?”

 

“I only have a name,” Brisin admits with a sigh. “All that work, and all I got was a name. The Ram horn Judge- he’s name is Judge Magister Gabranth. It almost killed me just to get that information, let me tell you. I don’t have anything else for you- but he has some loyal followers, almost fanatical.”

 

Now Reks has a name to a face. His second greatest enemy.

 

The name is almost a better gift than the weapon.

 

***

 

_Rabanastre, Year 704 Old Valendian_

 

Reks returns for Siri and Moqu’s funeral. He had been in the hunter’s camp in Phon coast when he heard of their death at the hands of an elite mark.

 

When he arrives at the city, he is shocked to find how busy everyone looks, how festive the whole city is. There is an excitement that crackles in the air and all of Rabanastre is bursting with energy. Reks can’t find it in him to join the festivities, his mentors’ deaths fresh in his mind.

 

The clan hall is silent, Moqu’s son, Rori, crying on Monid’s massive shoulder. The Bangaa is crouched low to allow the hume child to cry.

 

Reks places a hand on Monid’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and takes Rori into his arms.

 

Monid’s face is crumpled with grief. “I’ll kill that bastard,” he growls. “I’ll kill him.”

 

“What of Rori?” Reks asks when the boy has been spirited away by Monteblanc. He sees the moogle give something to Rori.

 

“I’ll raise him meself,” Monid says. “Least I can do for them.”

 

Reks nods and presses a package in the bangaa’s hands. “They’re sleep stones,” Reks says. “Made by Nu-Mou apothecary. To guarantee peaceful sleep.”

 

Monid does not verbally reply but does nod in thanks.

 

“Why’s the city so busy?” Reks asks, trying to shift the topic away.

 

Monid grunts as he rolls his eyes. “The princess is getting married to a Nabradian prince,” he mutters, the sharp bite of his voice back. “Don’t know why the whole city is jumping for joy about it.”

 

“Perhaps because Nabradia can now be Dalmasca’s shield,” Reks replies. He has no desire to join this war; no hunter does. They are beyond borders, protecting all of Ivalice, not just a single country.

 

Bansat wanders up to them, his voice jolly as always. “Will you go watch the wedding? I heard there’ll be a parade an’ everything!” the seeq says. “It might distract the boy.”

 

Monid says that he wants to be alone with Rori so Reks goes to watch the parade with Bansat and Krjn. They watch from the top of the clan building, looking down at the crowd below them. The parade is extravagant, with the royal couple riding a float pulled by a dozen chocobo decked in finery. The princess’ dress is inlaid with numerous chains, the gems glistening in the sunlight. Reks wonders if Moniq had a hand in making a part of the attire. She is very popular in the city, after all.

 

The prince is in pure white armour, and it matches his white hair quite well. It is prince Rasler, the youngest son; the other two princes, if Reks recalls from Brisin’s descriptions, has darker hair like their mother.

 

“What a beautiful couple,” Bansat comments with a laugh. 

 

“I guess,” Reks replies when Krjn remains silent.

 

Reks gets bored when the actual ceremony begins, the priest’s words long and drawn out. He leaves for Migelo’s sundries; he needs to stock up on smelling salts, the last hunt depleted his supplies.

 

***

 

“Reks!” a girl calls and grabs his arm. Reks snaps back to face the intruder, his other arm raised to defend himself.

 

“Penelo?” he says, once he recognizes the girl. They meet regularly, since he is a frequent customer at Migelo’s store and she visits often for errands from her mother. She is ashen today, her normally rosy complexion pale and withdrawn. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Reks…it’s…it’s nothing,” she says with a watery laugh. “I was just worried about you.”

 

Reks raises a brow at the younger girl. “Whatever for?” he asks.

 

“I heard you were in Phon Coast,” she says. “When I heard nothing else, I thought maybe you were attacked by a Battalion.”

 

It’s strange that she’d make that sort of connection. If he recalls, Archadia hasn’t attacked any trading posts yet. Reks’ eyes widen as he puts everything together. “Penelo, did something happen to your family?”

 

Something in Penelo’s face breaks and Reks moves them as fast as he can to a storeroom; it’s a humiliating experience to break down in front of strangers and he’d like to spare Penelo that as much as possible.

 

She cries into his chest and tells him that everyone’s gone. Mother and father killed by a rouge battalion that decided to attack a trading post, brothers killed in combat during the initial attacks by Archadia.

 

Reks holds her and doesn’t say anything because he understands. Words have no meaning here, and this is all he can offer her.

 

***

 

Nabradia lies in ruin. Those are the first words Brisin says to him when the red-head more or less barges into his home, parts of his pale skin blistered from the influx of mist. Khala sways weakly beside him and Reks ushers them in before leading the nu-mou to the bed.

 

“What happened?” he asks while casting his strongest white magick on the shop owner. Reks throws a potion at Brisin, who leans against the wall as he drinks the potion with a nod. Brisin looks well enough; it is Khala that looks worse for wear.

 

“There was an attack by Archadia,” the hume says, pushing back the copper hair that’s fallen out of the braid. “They used something …  A weapon that created an explosion of mist in the royal palace. We were only saved because Khala had made a barrier around the shop. The Shatter was almost too damaged to fly, but we got here. It was not of this world, the destruction it caused.”

 

Reks bites his lips. “If what you say is true and Nabudis has fallen,” he states, pulling back his magick once he thinks Khala has stabilized. “Then Rabanastre will not be safe for much longer.”

 

Beside him, the old Nu-mou coughs with a gurgle; Reks narrows his eyes as he refocuses his white magick, Khala still needs the aid. “Reks, you must leave,” Khala groans out. “The Imperials march with ferocity; Dalmasca will not hold.”

 

“You’d have to get going then, to leave Rabanastre in time,” Reks says with a weak laugh. “Where do you plan to go?”

 

“I’m off to Balfonheim,” Brisin replies, shrugging his shoulders. “Even though Khala’s insisting that we both go to Mount Bur-Omisace.”

 

Khala gives Brisin an annoyed stare. “I told you, Balfonheim is a den of thieves and sky pirates,” he hisses. “It won’t be safe. Mount Bur-Omisace is a sacred land, even Archadia will not attack there.”

 

Reks nods. “It’s also in Jagd,” he adds. “No sky ship will be able to fly over it. The mountain is safest.”

 

“Come with us, Reks,” Khala practically begs. “Rabanastre- I fear that the Imperials will use the same weapon as they did in Nabudis.”

 

Reks thinks of Penelo, of the loss she just faced. He thinks of Monid, who will never leave Rabanastre while Rori is still so young. He thinks about all the people that need him and sighs as he shakes his head.

 

“I can’t leave,” Reks says. “I’m needed here.”

 

Brisin raises a brow. “I thought you said you were a hunter, beyond the limitations of borders.”

 

Reks smiles at the words. “I’m not staying for Dalmasca,” is all he says.

 

***

 

When Khala stabilizes once more, and the effects of the potion has made good on Brisin’s injuries, the Landissir stands and makes his way to the door.

 

“You can stay here,” Reks says, grabbing Brisin’s arm. “I have enough room.”

 

Brisin smiles but shakes his head. “The Shatter has a bed, and it’ll be a hell of a lot better than sleeping on your floor,” he says. “Besides, I have an injured man on board.” 

 

Reks jumps at the news. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, rummaging his bags for remedies and ethers. “I’ll go with you and help heal him. If he’s bedridden, he must be worse off than you.”

 

Brisin shakes his head. “I promise you this, that guy doesn’t deserve your aid,” he says. “If he lives, he lives, if he doesn’t, no sweat off your back. Besides, I think he’ll be more miserable alive than dead.”

 

“What?” Reks says, furrowing his brows in confusion until he fully understands the other man’s words. “Oh, the man, is he Archadian?”

 

Reks has no love for anyone connected to the Solidor, even the very fact that they are Archadian makes him hesitate in offering aid.

 

Brisin taps a finger against his nose.

 

Reks sighs, before he begins packing some potions and remedies into a satchel and passing it to the Landissir. “I don’t like the idea of saving an Archadian, especially after what they did to Nabudis, but you must have thought he was worth something to have taken him with you. At the very least, you can take this and help the guy out.”

 

“He’s actually not that bad, for an Imperial pig,” Brisin replies. “He certainly showed some remorse, which is more than I can say for some of the others.”

 

***

 

Brisin and Khala leave after another two days- No one mentions the mysterious patient Brisin has in the Shatter, though Reks does pack the Landissir food and some healing items whenever he headed out for the night.

 

The duo plans on flying until Ozmone plains then taking a chocobo from the Garif village to the Mountain. When Reks offers Khala gil for their journey, the Nu-mou refuses so firmly that he doesn’t ask again.

 

He just slips it to Brisin and gets a wink in return.

 

***

 

Rabanastre is in a false calm; no one mentions the war, or the failed battle in Nalbina fortress. No one mentions Prince Rasler’s death.

 

Archadia marches ever closer and all the people do is complain about the rising food prices and the sudden lack of goods.

 

There are few petitioners for hunts. No one has time to worry about monsters when there is a war, when it is men themselves that are the monsters. 

 

***

 

“Conscripted?” Reks hisses out when the army official comes to his house. The man looks visibly uncomfortable in his surroundings, eyes darting between the darken walls of Lowtown.

 

“Yes, Dalmasca requires all men of good health to participate in the army,” the man replies, straightening his back in an attempt to show his prestige. “Reks, son of Altim, you have been called.”

 

“For what end?” Reks growls. “Dalmasca’s victory is impossible. To attack Archadia will lead to all our deaths! Raminas should be attempting to stop the war through talks.”

 

“There is no plan to attack Archadia,” the man argues back. “It will be for the defence of Dalamsca!”

 

“You will doom us all,” Reks says, trying to make the man change his mind. “Conscripting these men will be for naught.”

 

The official sniffs haughtily. “It is the will of King Raminas.”

 

“And what is one man’s life to a king?” Reks mutters to himself, slamming the door shut.

 

What a waste of time.

 

***

 

Training is simple for Reks but looking at the other recruits makes him realize how ill-prepared the rest of his battalion is. They fumble through magick training, and many of them do not have the strength to wield the weapons provided. Their stances are wrong, and they leave openings when they spar. They are nothing more than cannon fodder; a distraction while the real soldiers fight. Reks doesn’t know if he should be offended that he is put amongst these novices.

 

Captain Fon Ronsenburg at least attempts to train the new recruits as much as he can but Captain Azelas looks as though he’s given up on them.

 

Reks would rather not die before having his revenge against Vayne Solidor, so he takes time out of his free days to train some of the worst recruits and goes around trading the heavy swords for something more lightweight but equally effective.

 

He wants to show Captain Azelas that they are worth more than moving targets.

 

***

 

The treaty signing between Archadia and Dalmasca is a trap and Captain Basch leads the charge to Nalbina Fortress to stop the signing. Reks doesn’t fully understand where the news is coming from.

 

“To think Archadia would fall so low,” Gria mutters, leaning against one of the fallen pillars. Gria had been one of the few in the battalion that had any sort of battle experience. Reks had bullied the man into helping him train the worst of their group.

 

The infiltration to Nalbina is a disaster. Most of the soldiers have neither the skill nor the experience to survive an attack from multiple sides. Reks’ battalion lies broken at the entrance hall of the fortress, successful in getting in but at heavy costs. They’re recuperating, trying to save who they can.

 

“Where are they even getting this information from?” Reks mutters as he heals a bruise on his shield arm. “Why would Archadia invite King Raminas then assassinate him? Do they plan on killing the King’s entire retinue? It makes no sense. Something doesn’t seem right.”

 

“Why bother shoving their nose in where they don’t belong?” Gria retorts. “Who knows what goes through the mind of those Imperials?”

 

Captain Basch Fon Ronsenburg marches over to them, his armour clinking as he walks. “Are any of you in need of healing?” the blond captain asks. Reks heard rumours that Captain Fon Ronsenburg hails from Landis, but he fits right in with the Rabanastre natives, with his light hair and pale eyes. It’s hard for Reks to imagine the man as Landissir.

 

“I think we’re all in one piece,” Gria says, straightening his back and popping the joints.

 

Captain Azelas joins them, putting a gauntleted hand on Captain Fon Ronsenburg’s shoulder. “We must move,” he says before leaning close to mutter to the other captain. “Basch, it’s as I feared; they’re slowing us down.”

 

Reks glares at Captain Azelas and giving him a sharp smile. “Well, it’s not like there is many of us left to slow you down now,” he hisses, unsheathing his sword.

 

“Yeah, they’re all, you know,  _dead_ on the ground,” Gria adds. They share a smile that borders on a snarl. He and Gria have a same sort of humour, dark and biting with enough sarcasm to make the noble Captain Azelas turn red with rage. “If you didn’t want greenhorns slowing you down, you shouldn’t have conscripted.”

 

“Would have been better if you trained us a little better too,” Reks grumbles. Normally, he’d have better semblance of respect for the Captains but at this point, with his life hanging by a thread, Reks finds that he doesn’t care to hold his tongue. Reks hopes Vaan is well still- maybe Vayne will die somehow and Vaan can waltz out of Archades.

 

“If we trained you so poorly, then how is it you’ve done so admirably?” Azelas growls, the captain rising to the bait.

 

“Need to be able to fight to be a caravaner,” Gria responds. “We aren’t protected by the high walls of Rabanastre. Reks there, he’s a hunter, so it’s not like his job is in any danger.”

 

“Always a mark in need of hunting.”

 

“Stop this quibble,” Captain Ronsenburg cuts in before anyone can jump into the fray. “As you’ve said Vossler, we’ve no time for petty arguments.”

 

They salvage whatever weapons they can and move out, and though Reks doesn’t fear Captain Azelas, he makes sure to stay on his far side.

 

Soon it becomes obvious that they cannot stay in one unit, they waste precious time dealing with straggler Imperials that don’t require all of their fighting force. Captain Ronsenburg sends Captain Azelas and most of the men ahead, leaving Reks and a few others to fight against the few remaining Archadian Imperials. However for every three they kill and 10 steps they take, there are always more Imperials slowing them down.

 

“This is getting out of hand,” Reks mutters before turning to Captain Ronsenburg. “Captain, there is no time for this. I’ll handle them, go to his Majesty.”

 

The Captain looks to argue so Reks adds, “If King Raminas has already signed the treaty, Archadia will have no need for him anymore. You must go, hurry!”

 

“Godspeed,” the Captain says before nodding to the other soldiers and leading them up the steps.

                               

Killing the Imperials is surprisingly easy; Reks has always killed monsters, not men so he thought he would hesitate. But Reks pretends the man under the mask is Vayne Solidor and his sword finds its mark every time. Archadian soldiers have better armour but they are hindered by the heavy metal and Reks jumps from each hit and mimics the tactic of the giza rabbits, slipping in quickly for an attack then retreating and drawing his opponents into a strategically favourable location before letting loose black magick.

 

With the final Imperial dead at his feet, Reks drinks his last potion before running to join the others.  

 

***

 

Reks lets out a choked gasp when he arrives to the hall of the treaty signing. His throat tightens as he witnesses the rest of his brigade, lying dead. Reks springs into action when he catches sight of Gria, running towards the caravaner and placing a shaking hand on his neck. There is a pulse, faint and weakening and Reks clenches his hands, trying to draw out whatever magick he has left.

 

“Come on,” Reks hisses, willing his mind to obey. If even one can be saved, the pain from magick overuse will be worth it. He smiles as some magick gathers in his hands; there is little but enough, just enough. Reks allows the white magic to flow from his hands to Gria, and watches with narrowed eyes as the wound on the soldier’s abdomen closes slowly. Once that is done, Reks pants shallowly with laboured breath; Gria lies unconscious, but he will live.

 

A soft sound of a sword swinging through the air brings Reks back to his surroundings. He stumbles up and tries to grab his weapon but it is too late. He presses a shaking hand on his side, blood coating his fingers. The blade pulls out with a sickly squelch and Reks crumbles to the ground. He needs to heal himself, but there isn’t enough magick in him. Reks presses down on the wound as he lies face down on the palace grounds. His attacker walks past him towards the throne where the corpse of King Raminas had been placed.

 

Reks’ eyes widen in shock when he sees who it is. “Captain Fon Ronsenburg, why?” he groans out, blood dribbling from his lips. This is bad; he has severe internal bleeding, he needs a potion or to heal it quickly. He cannot die like this, not while Vaan is still under Vayne Solidor’s power.

 

Captain Basch faces him, eyes blank of any emotion. “The king was planning on selling Dalmasca all along,” he speaks. He continues to talk but the rest of what the man says goes over Reks’ head because he has heard this voice before, but not from the Captain.

 

_“Look Boy, if you value your life, I suggest you forget your brother. Pretend he died with the plague.”_

 

This man is not Captain Fon Ronsenburg. Reks feels a renewed strength within him, and manages to heal part of the wound on his side; it is still deep but not bleeding as heavily. He will not die by that man’s sword.

 

“Judge Magister Gabranth,” Reks manages to hiss out, and the imposter’s façade shatters for a moment, the dark eyes widening in shock.

 

The fake Captain, Gabranth, stumbles in his words before gaining his composure again, talking of betrayal and a Dalmasca bought and sold but Reks hears nothing but the pounding of his ears. But he’s said it, and he’s made it known to the Judge and the monster that he works for.

 

_I know your secret, and now you know that I know your secret._

 

The Judge glances down at him, and lifts up his blade to finish the job, but is stopped by the sound of collective gasping from somewhere distant. Reks twists his head to look back.

 

“Vayne Solidor,” Reks hisses quietly, as the man strolls forward with the other Dalamscan dignitaries. Several Imperials run forward and push the fake Basch down. The Dalmascan nobles whisper amongst themselves, looking on with horror as their leader lies dead and their once heroic general in chains.

 

“And to think, good Captain, that Archadia would have given some autonomy to Dalmasca.”

 

“We’ll never surrender to you,” the Captain replies. “The Dalmascan people are not cattle to be sold by a traitor king.”

 

“Captain Fon Ronsenburg, how could you say that?!” a councilwoman asks with a hint of hysteria. “This treaty was our only hope for a peaceful resolution!”

 

The sound grows until it seems everyone in the signing hall is screaming over each other, though Vayne stays as impassive as before.

 

Beside him, Reks can feel Gria moving as he awakens, but the bloodloss is too much and he falls into darkness.

 

“Vaan,” he whispers as everything fades.

 

***

 

_The Dungeons of Nalbina, Year 704 Old Valendian_

 

Reks’ cell is a small isolated room in the far corner of Nalbina dungeon. Archadia had converted the lower level of Nalbina fortress into a dungeon once it was taken from Nabradia; it had once housed the poor of the city, but these days, even being poor can be a crime punishable by imprisonment. He is alone most of the time, the guards only coming in to question him on the day of King Raminas’ assassination. He is the only one left; though everyone that still lived were arrested, they were all freed once they supported the story of Captain Basch’s madness and betrayal.

 

He doesn’t begrudge his brigade members; they’ve never heard the Fake Basch’s voice, never had it burned into their minds.  

 

His only solaces are that they let him free in his cell, instead of chaining him down and the small window at the top of his cell that gives him a glimpse of the sky.

  

They tell him he’ll walk free as soon as he speaks of Basch’s betrayal. But Reks is no fool; there’s no way he’ll be let free. He knows too much. If he hadn’t opened his mouth and said the Judge’s name, it may be different- but at the time, just saying the words had given Reks strength. There’s also the fact that Reks will not sully Captain Basch Fon Ronsenburg’s name just to walk free. It would be an injustice to the poor man, and it will be admitting defeat against the Solidor snake.

 

He will  **not** let Vayne Solidor win.

 

The Imperials that guard him are getting frustrated, Reks can tell. Their tortures have increased recently, their tactics more creative. They inflict sap and Reks feels like something is clawing him from the inside, or they use fire and blizzard in combination, making sure he cannot acclimate to any one temperature. Reks tries to heal himself as much as he can after each session, but his magick is limited by the sheer number of wounds and his body’s weakness.

 

Reks doesn’t know how to get himself out of this mess.

 

***

 

“You won’t be here for much longer,” the loud one says flippantly as he adds more weights on the scale. It adds more pressure on his hands; a device designed to crush the victim’s fingers. Reks bites his lips until they bleed; no torture has made him scream yet, and he doesn’t intend on letting them hear him now. The torturers today are of a more brutish sort; they aren’t very intelligent, happy to talk freely without any censor.

 

“Oh aye,” the other one says, tapping his blade. “Some of the uppers think they should just brand you a conspirator and execute you. I mean, why else would you defend Fon Ronsenburg with such vehemence?”

 

 “You cannot silence the truth forever,” Reks gasps out, his spittle tinged with blood. “Vayne’s lies will be revealed soon enough.”

 

The loud one chuckles, elbowing his partner lightly. “You know what they’ve been saying,” he says with a chortle.

 

The Imperial laughs in response, staring down at Reks. “Might as well ask then, huh?” he says. “Is it true? That you’re in such denial because you spread your legs for him and he ended up stabbing ya?”

 

Disgusting Imperial Pigs.

 

Reks responds in the only appropriate manner he can think of. He spits on the Imperial’s face.

 

“A fucking shame it is. Such a pretty face, but your manners are lacking.”

 

***

 

They end up breaking the bones in his left hand, but for the first time in awhile, Reks is able to muster enough magick to heal it completely.

 

His anger fuels this burst of magickal power.

 

***

 

The tortures have stopped since last week, when the two Imperials mentioned his execution. Reks stares up at the sky and watches the clouds drift past. He’s managed to heal himself to relative health, though without a proper meal, he’ll be too weak to be of much use.

 

Sooner then he hopes, two soldiers march in and handcuff him, binding his wrists behind his back, and pushing his shoulders until he is on his knees. Reks understands why a moment later as Vayne Solidor slides into the room like the serpent he is.

 

“Our noble yet naive hunter,” Vayne says, standing in front of him. “So blinded by your belief in the good Captain.”

 

“You and I both know his innocence,  _Vayne_ ,” Reks growls back, trying to fight his way free. It’s futile of course, but he can’t help but try. He forgoes all titles when addressing the Archadian because the man deserves none; he should be the one imprisoned in the dungeons.

 

 Vayne shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “It seems your madness is much deeper than once thought,” the Archadian comments before turning to the soldiers. “Free him.”

 

Reks narrows his eyes. “What?”

 

Vayne focuses back to him. “The rumours, of course, would not reach you,” he explains. “But one of your fellow soldiers has spread that you were so shocked by the Captain’s betrayal that you’ve created this complex scenario almost worthy of a mummer’s play. Such a scandalous plot; the seduction of a young and impressionable soldier by the predatory Captain, the Captain heartlessly stabbing his paramour with an intent to kill, and the poor soldier, betrayed and abandoned, goes mad with grief. As such, it matters not whether you walk free, for all of Rabanastre think you mad by shock and betrayal.”

 

The man says it so calmly but Reks knows what that implies. They’ll think him mad, untrustworthy. He will lose the trust of his petitioners, all of his network will be scared to be associated with him; Reks will be back to where he started, or even worse.

 

“Everyone will know what you are,” Vayne adds with a soft smile. “A madman. A jilted whore.” 

 

Reks is stunned into silence, because there is nothing he could say that can salvage this.

 

Vayne Solidor has ruined his life for the second time.

 

***

 

Gria is the one that picks him up once Reks stumbles out of Nalbina Fortress. He is grim-faced as Reks glares at him.

 

“You’re the one that spread the rumour. You son of a bitch, you’ve ruined me,” he hisses, trying to walk off on his own. But he is so weak, and Gria is so much stronger, healthier, and the man supports him as they walk towards the caravans, half-carrying Reks.

 

Gria does not look regretful or sorry; his mouth tightens at the corners as he answers, “It was the only way to save you,” he mutters. “I am sorry about one thing. I never started the rumour about you sleeping with him- it just got added on so naturally. But, Reks, they were never going to let you go, not unless something drastic happened!”

 

And the worst part of what Gria says is the fact that Reks knows what he says is true; Vayne would never have let him leave without the rumour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo boy, did I add a lot of Brisin and gave him more characterization(?) (Which was on purpose- for the plot!) Brisin’s a nice guy- he tries to control his potty mouth in front of the young ones. 
> 
> Also corrected the glaring plot hole of why on earth does everyone still think Vaan would be with the guy that kidnapped him? Reks and Brisin come to fill that plot hole! Slave trade is unfortunately alive and well in Ivalice after all.
> 
> I think it flows better than the original and with MORE foreshadowing…. Also, in the first one Moniq was just “ok – you go and risk you life out there!” which wasn’t really in line with her characterization… (Though looking back on it now, it might just be that she respects Reks’ choices) So many new changes OTL
> 
> Also, OoooH, just who did Brisin save? (Who knows?) Will Reks' new sword ever be mentioned again? (It probably won't.) 
> 
> Please comment!! QuQ It’s the only sure fire way that I know how you feel about the story!!!! Did you like the added bits, did you think it was unnecessary? Let me know!


	3. Prologue Part 3- Kindred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Year 704 OV to year 706 OV. Editted 06-13-17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the kudos and comments. Here’s the next bit!! 
> 
> I can’t believe I forgot Reks’ yearly pilgrimage to Mt. Bur-Omisace :ooooo I missed 704 OV!!! And so I put in some new exciting bits!! Khala expansion!!!! And because of this, Rasler + Reks’ discussion of themselves kind of changes… Because Reks sees the Nabradian refugees, etc. 
> 
> Old version had 9087 words while this version has 14 698!! I’m sorry for making it so long!!!!! I almost died just editing it!!! D: It is 32 pages!!!! Q-Q
> 
> Sorry for the choppiness!
> 
> Chapter Warning: Time-line skew; Chaos esper backstory mess-up. Reks and Rasler kill things. Rasler and Reks get together. Trying to explain game logic to story logic. Brisin shows up, and acts mysterious.
> 
> Rasler appears! His characterization will be expanded too with this new version (The poor boy is sort of pushed aside for a lot of the story because this really did start off as Reks’ story.) Rasler’s past will be revealed in either an interlude eventually!! My characterization of Rasler, much like my characterization of Reks, is based on the two small scenes in the game Rasler actually talks. (Ghost Rasler doesn’t count) So, much liberty was taken with his personality and such. Remember, the story has no connection from the manga!

_Rabanastre, Year 704 Old Valendian_

 

Reks is forced to stay with Gria and his caravaners for four days just to regain his strength. He refuses Gria’s offer to help him back into the city, his pride still stinging from both his imprisonment and the stupid rumour the nomad spread. When Reks finally returns to his house in Lowtown, he expects the worst, so he is surprised to find the house still in order, Moniq making herself home there.

 

“Moniq,” Reks says, standing by the door, wondering what the Bangaa is thinking. How she knew he was returning.

 

“That odd nomad fellow told me,” Moniq says as she places two small bowls of food on the table, answering Reks’ unspoken question. “The house, I managed to keep safe thanks to Monid’s connections- he has some friends in high places.”

 

Moniq gives him an annoyed look when he simply stands at the doorway. “Well, come on. Sit- eat something,” she says with a huff, gesturing to the chair. “I’m sure the food in prison wasn’t up to par and who knows with those caravaners- they’ll eat sand if they could.”

 

He obeys with a stiff nod. Once Reks comes closer, he sees what Moniq has brought. One bowl is full of clear broth, cockatrice if Reks’ sense of smell is still right. The other bowl is porridge, small pieces of fish and vegetables adding colour. The food is only lightly seasoned, and Reks is more thankful than ever for Moniq, for making the foods palatable for someone who has just left prison. Overly strong spices would overwhelm him at this time.

 

“So,” Reks says between bites of food. “I’m sure you have questions for me.”

 

Moniq shrugs. “I’m sure you have questions for me too. But it can wait,” she replies, nodding at the food.   

 

Reks shakes his head. “No, just tell me,” he says. “Let’s get it over with.”

 

“Gods above save me from this hardheaded hume,” she mutters with a huff, before crossing her arms in front of her. “What makes you _so_ sure that the man that killed the king is not Captain Fon Ronsenburg?”

 

Reks glares down at the table. “What makes you so sure that Vayne Solidor speaks true?”

 

“Now, I didn’t say that,” Moniq says with a wave of her finger. “I don’t trust that long-haired snake for even a second. I asked why you are so positive that it isn’t Fon Ronsenburg.”

 

Reks looks up from the food, meeting Moniq’s eyes to show his sincerity. “The fake…” he says, not wanting to put Moniq in danger by telling her too much. “The fake had an Archadian accent.”

 

“And how is it that no one else noticed it?” Moniq asks with a tiny tilt of her head.

 

“Everyone else… died- save for Gria, I guess,” he replies. “But Captain Basch always did have an accent.”

 

Moniq nodded in agreement. “True enough, the man isn’t going around speaking Commonborn,” she comments with a hum. “And he’s Landissir yeah? I remember back when people had a fit when the man rose to Lieutenant, all because he was foreign born. This was before everyone worshiped the ground he walked on- so, far before your time.”

 

“He is. Landissir,” Reks says. “So, unless you’ve spent enough time with them, it’s difficult to distinguish the Archadian and Landis accents.”

 

Moniq stays silent for a long time, enough for Reks to finish his meal and to wash the dishes she’s brought. The Bangaa made him food, he wasn’t about to make her clean up after him as well.

 

“Well, at the end of it all, you were there and I wasn’t,” she says with a smile. “I guess it only makes sense to believe you. If you say it wasn’t Basch, then by Faram, it isn’t Basch.”

 

Reks is stunned into silence; he never expected anyone to take his side, not even someone as close as Moniq. Not even Gria had done so, and the man had been there.

 

But he had forgotten how astute Moniq is.

 

“Thank you,” Reks says, relieved that at least someone believes him.

 

“But, I warn you now, don’t expect me to be vocal about it!”

 

***

Archadia takes over Dalmasca without resistance- the last of it died with Captain Fon Ronsenburg, and then the suicide of the princess. The Imperials simply come in one day and ousts the Dalmascan Royalty from government posts. The rent skyrockets for locations in the city proper and many merchants are forced under to Lowtown to conduct business while nobles flee the city to Rozarria and other free countries.

 

However life stays much the same for the middle and working class of Rabanastre. They still avoid the guards, now changed from uniforms of leather to armours of steel, and they still try to elk out a living while ignoring the political situation around them.

 

Reks’ life also remains surprisingly unchanged as before. Most of Rabanastre cannot connect the mad soldier to him and he suffers no repercussions from his prison sentence when securing marks; though kingdoms will rise and fall, eradicating monsters is an occupation that will persist as long as Ivalice stands.

 

A great loss is his network, irreversibly broken. But that has more to do with the fact that most of his informants died than his supposed mental instability.

 

The only thing Reks has to deal with are the pitying looks of the people that know him personally, like Penelo and Tomaj, but most of his colleagues know better than to ask him about it.

 

***

It is an open secret amongst the common people that a fledging resistance operates in the Northern portion of Lowtown, in a small warehouse owned by Katien. Reks doesn’t particularly care to join it, though they say that the men who took part in King Raminas’ failed rescue have joined. He doesn’t like how easily they turned their back on someone that was known to be the most loyal to the king, even more so than Captain Azelas.

 

Reks visits once and only once, to give Gria Valeblossom dew for his brother’s desert fever. While he passes the vial to his friend, he feels the accusing eyes of the other Resistance members on him but no one is brave enough to say anything when they know of his prowess in battle. Until one does, as all idiots do.

 

“So the mad soldier makes his entrance,” a man Reks doesn’t remember says with a sneer. “Still pining over the captain? Delusional bitch.”

 

“Oh shut the hell up Presti,” Gria says with growl before Reks can verbally destroy the bastard himself. “Everyone knows it’s just a shitty rumour. Ya prick.”

 

Presti? Reks remembers the name- he was an artillery man in one of the other divisions. Reks glares at the man, raising a brow. “You got something else to say to me Presti?” Reks asks. “Or you too much of a coward to say it to my face?”

 

Presti’s response is never heard, for it is at this moment Captain Vossler Azelas enters the chamber, his face in his customary frown. “What is going on here?” he says before he catches sight of Reks. “You? What are you doing here? Did you gain enough honour to join us at last?”

 

Reks scoffs in derision. “Let’s be honest here Captain- it’s not honour that’s drawing these people here.”

 

“What did you say?” Vossler growls, his brows furrowed.

 

“Yeah? What was that you bastard?” Presti adds, hasty to get on the Captain’s good side. “Just because you’re too busy fawning over the traitor! You-”

 

“What are you blabbering about?” Vossler cuts in, turning to glare at Presti.

 

“Huh? No-Nothing Captain!” Presti replies with a wave of his hand. “But you know the word that’s going around about this brat.”

 

Vossler’s frown deepens and his glare turns even more hostile against the man. Shaking his head, he slams a fist on the table, rattling some of the cups that had been resting there. “I cannot believe I have to say these words to the people that had served and fought with Captain Basch Fon Ronsenburg,” Vossler says, his voice commanding no disputes. “But any and all rumours that have risen regarding Basch and the boy are nothing but lies made by the Solidors to slander our soldiers.”

 

Reks’ eyes widen at the words but he keeps his expression blank. Vossler defending him- he never thought he would see the day.

 

“And if I hear anyone bringing up such nonsense again, there will be severe consequences,” Vossler adds with a pointed look at Presti.

 

Reks, however, is not fully in the clear. Vossler turns back to Reks after his speech, disapproval clear on the older man’s face. Reks gets an earful about Dalmasca and justice and how Reks is betraying the motherland, all very noted points that had been told to him countless times by Gria. Reks counters by telling Vossler and the rest of the Resistance that more harm will come to Dalmasca if they fight.

 

It ends with Captain Azelas boxing him in the ear and calling him unfit to hold any blade and Reks hissing about how easily Vossler forgets loyalty, about how easy Vossler believes it is to sway a heart.

 

***

_The Nam-Yensa Sandsea, Year 704 Old Valendian_

 

Reks loses one of his earrings; it happens on a hunt. The mark managed to cuff the side of his face, ripping the piercing he had on his right ear. He doesn’t notice until he’s returned to the camp and gotten his reward.

 

Reks spends hours backtracking, crawling around the Nam-Yensa Sandsea, looking desperately for a faint glint of metal. Once night comes and it becomes too dark to see past his hands, he gives up, digging his fingernails into his neck to vent his frustration.

 

He resolves not to make the same mistake again. Reks asks Moniq to turn the remaining earring into a ring and to make it tight enough that it’ll be almost impossible to pull off. The Bangaa mutters to herself but does what he requests, making sure that the ring doesn’t slip off his middle finger.

 

“You need to learn how to deal with losses better,” she says, in her blunt way.

 

“I am dealing with it,” Reks replies, rolling the ring around his finger. It’ll never come off now, not unless someone cuts it off. “What’s so wrong with wanting to keep it safe?”

 

“This is a horrible way to deal with it,” she comments with a shake of her head as he is leaving the workshop. Moniq always needs to get the last word. “You’re acting like a crazy person, is what you are doing.”

 

***

_Dalmasca Estersand, Year 704 Old Valendian_

Reks narrows his eyes when he notices someone encroaching on his mark. It is obvious the man’s had training, though he still struggles against the Greeden. He has the correct stances; it is his mediocre equipment that fails him. From what Reks can see, his armour is not the best, and his vision looks compromised by a pale headscarf.

 

“Damn,” Reks says with a growl. He had wanted to wait until the Greeden was sleeping to attack but with the man there, it isn’t an option. He won’t let someone die for a mark.

 

“Idiot,” Reks mutters to the struggling man before jumping from his high vantage point of the tree branch. He dispels the gator’s protective barrier, unsheathing his Durandal as the monster’s focus shifts to him. Reks casts cure on the other man and lifts his sword to attack the Greeden’s eyes in order to blind it.

 

The stranger nods in thanks for the aid. But then there is no time to talk, as they focus on the beast. However, the battle is surprisingly easy after Greeden loses its sight. The warrior attacks with efficient movements that compliment Reks’ own and between the two of them, the mark stands no chance. Once the beast goes down, Reks turns and glares at the new comer.

 

“What the hell were you doing?” he growls, keeping his sword at his side. “You can’t just trespass onto other people’s Marks! And you weren’t even prepared!! You could have died!”

 

The man stands tall in response, pale eyes meeting his, though not in challenge. “My apologies,” he says, deep voice accented with a Nabradian tint. “I fear that it was not my intention to _trespass_ onto your mark. I was simply planning to collect some cactus fruit when the beast attacked me quite suddenly.”

 

“Oh,” Reks replies, feeling embarrassed by his strong animosity. “Well, you still should have been careful… But I’m sorry, for jumping to conclusions.”

 

He turns to Greeden and begins to cut the blood wool from the gator to avoid looking at the stranger, since he’s still flushed with embarrassment. “Well, no harm done then,” Reks comments, pocketing the wool. The next part will be a pain, trying to get a scale as proof of the Greeden’s death.

 

A Nabradian, probably a noble one at that- the man’s speech reeks of Blessmarche. Reks wonders why someone like that is not far out in Rozarria, hiding.

 

Reks feels the man’s eyes scanning him, taking note of his armour, his weapons. “Does hunting offer a lot of monetary compensation?” the man asks, crouching beside Reks to watch him work.

 

“Depends,” Reks replies, wiping his hands on the Greeden’s furry body to get rid of the blood. “Good ones certainly do. How are your skills?”

 

“You fought with me today, why don’t you tell me?” the man says, eyes crinkling, his mouth hidden under the scarf.

 

“You are pretty good,” Reks comments, remembering the battle that had just taken place. It takes either great training or incredible intuition to match one’s fighting style to compliment someone else’s, especially a stranger’s, and the man had done it just by watching Reks fight for a few moments. “But are you looking to make a lot fast?”

 

The Nabradian hums in contemplation. “I suppose the quicker the better.”

 

“Then going about as a swordhand will suit your needs more,” Reks says.

 

The man sighs, staring up at the cloudless Dalmascan sky. “To do what others expect of me. To follow the roles set out by others’ values. It is not something I want to do anymore,” he admits, meeting Reks’ eyes. “I hear that the hunters are bound by nothing but themselves. I should like to learn, how to become one. If you are willing?”

 

Reks looks at the man and sees his weak weapon and his haphazard armour. It reminds him of himself when he first started. Nabradia has fallen- this man simply wants to make a living, just like everyone else. Nobility or not, not everyone was lucky enough to leave before it was too late.

 

“Sure,” Reks says with a nod. “Let’s first get the reward for this hunt and then I’ll show you the ropes.”

 

“Great!” the man says with a relieved laugh. “I am Raze.”

 

“Raze?” Reks asks before laughing. “Like, you raze something to the ground, _Raze_?”

 

“Yes,” Raze replies, chuckling along. “It is quite an odd name, I suppose.”

 

“I don’t have any right to say anything,” he comments lightly. “After all, my name is Reks.”

 

Raze tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Reks?”

 

Reks tenses and stiffly turns away. “If you don’t want my help, I can still introduce you to someone that can help you become a hunter. Just go talk to Toma-”

 

Raze grabs his arm, making Reks face him. “I did not mean any offense!” the Nabradian says, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s just…I- I have been searching for you.”

 

“What?” Reks hisses, crossing his arms in front of him. “Why? Who sent you?!”

 

“What? No one! I mean, I was looking for you- for myself,” Raze stumbles. “Because… Because you are right. Vossler is _wrong_. Basch would never kill the king, this I know.”

 

“And,” Raze continues, gazing at him with camaraderie in his pale eyes. “I’ve been trying to find someone that knew this too. It was so frustrating when no matter where I went, no one would believe me. Then I heard of you- the stringent defender of Captain Basch Fon Ronsenburg. I know it’s impossible to change anything but I just wanted to meet someone else that knew the truth.”

 

Reks chuckles and passes a hand through his silver hair. Because, how long had he looked for someone that also believed in Captain Basch? Someone who truly did, not like Moniq who took his word but didn’t know the Captain personally enough to clearly see the truth?

 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to meet someone like you,” Reks says, taking the Nabradian’s hand and shaking it with enthusiasm. “I’d love to get to know you more, but we’d better get the reward first. We’ll talk as we go to Rabanastre.”

 

Through their conversation, Reks learns that Raze is a former member of the Nabradian forces that had fallen in Nalbina. He managed to survive thanks to the help of a nomadic tribe in the Estersands. Raze talks about Basch’s bravery in Nalbina and how the Prince had trusted the Captain.

 

“The man loves Dalmasca so,” Raze says. “He wouldn’t turn his back on the king this way.”

 

Reks nods but doesn’t mention how he could tell the difference so clearly, for that would bring too many painful memories. He simply states the differing accents the imposter and the true Captain had.

 

***

They sell the blood wool for a high price to an experienced tailor with a love for exotic trimmings. Raze tilts his head as they leave the Bazaar.

 

“I never thought that would be where blood wool came from,” he comments to himself. “I can’t believe they used to clamour to wear something like that.”

 

“You must have been a true Blueblood nob, to be able to even afford cloth from blood wool,” Reks replies with smile, as if the Blessmarche wasn’t enough of a sign.

 

“A what?”

 

“A nob. You know, a _noble_ ,” Reks says. “That proves it! Since you don’t even know what a nob means.”

 

“My family wasn’t _that_ high up,” Raze mutters, crossing his arms. “Nob. That’s not even a real word!”

 

Reks laughs, shaking his head. Someone that can keep calm in most situations and can float past jibes and small insults was useful.

 

Raze would be a good hunting partner, Reks decides with a nod, his mind already making plans to create a partnership.

 

***

 

After getting the reward for the Greeden hunt, Reks takes Raze to Tomaj and secures a clan primer for him as well as getting a hunt that Reks had been unconfident in finishing on his own. Then, despite Raze’s insistence, Reks uses the reward gil to get some suitable armour and weapons for the Nabradian.

 

“You helped kill the beast, you deserve a cut of the reward,” Reks says in defence as he pushes a sword at other man.

 

“But you’re using it all,” Raze argues back, looking at the blade without much interest. “I couldn’t.”

 

Reks sighs in annoyance at the Nabradian’s stubborn nature. “Fine then,” he says. “To pay me back, help me with a hunt. I accepted a mark that I don’t think I can do alone. If it works out, we can keep working together? How does that sound to you?”

 

Raze nods after a moment thinking the proposal over. “That sounds wonderful,” he replies. “However, you do not get as much as I in this deal. I am complete novice.”

 

“Your skills are worth enough,” Reks says with finality. “Now will you _please_ pick a sword?”

 

Raze’s reply is to put the sword back and pick up a Javelin. “I’m more of a spear man, myself,” he says with another smile.

 

Reks rolls his eyes and tells the novice hunter to meet him at the fountain in the morning.

 

“You’re trusting me? To just come?” Raze asks, tilting his head.

 

“Anyone that knows the Captain’s innocence is trustworthy,” Reks answers with a shrug. “Besides, you won’t be able to finish the hunt without me anyways.”

 

***

The first couple of marks are filled with stilted conversation and awkward manoeuvres but with enough success that Reks feels confident in continuing their partnership. However, Reks is unused to having to defend another person and is sometimes thrown off by a potion being tossed his way just as he is about to cast white magick on himself. The battles themselves are alright enough- Raze seems well used to complimenting others’ fighting style. However, they have difficulties finding a topic they can speak on during the long hours spent tracking the mark. Based on mutual agreement, they both steer clear of the war. There are other subjects that are sore spots that they accidently stumble on. Family is a topic that is sensitive to both of them and Reks clams up when asked about his parents and Raze becomes moody and haughty when asked about his. Raze also refuses to remove the headscarf, unbelievably stubborn even when it is to heal the head wound he got.

 

However, they eventually learn each other’s quirks and accommodate it. Raze learns to stop questioning Reks’ almost obsessive desire to collect gil and Reks simply rolls his eyes at Raze’s habit of waking early enough to hide his face. Reks pokes fun at him and asks if the Nabradian is hiding some sort of strange birth mark on his face. Raze laughs along but does not comment on it.

 

Reks beams as he watches the gil chests fill in his secret room. Soon, he’ll have enough to confront her.

 

***

_The Mosphoran Highwaste, Year 704 Old Valendian_

Reks is setting up camp in an isolated nook near the Mark’s sighting when an unexpected guest arrives. It is solo hunt as he’s sent off Raze to catch another mark. It would do good for the Nabradian to get the hang of obtaining mark contracts on his own. It’s difficult to get a reputation when one is partnered with a more experienced hunter.

 

“Brisin?” Reks says as he catches sight of the Landissir waving with a friendly smile. “What are you doing here?”

 

Brisin sits cross legged on the rocky outcrop next to Reks. “To see how you are!” he replies, rolling his neck. “To be honest, I was going to visit sooner but work was killer. Also, you are one hard man to find, lad!”

 

Reks shrugs. “I’m not in Rabanastre as much as I’d like to be,” he admits with a sigh. “You’re doing well?”

 

“Ah, it’s well enough. It’s life,” Brisin says. “How about you? Surviving alright?”

 

“Of course,” Reks replies, fiddling with the ring on his hand. “I’m hunting again- it’s busy. The money’s good.”

 

“I hear you got yourself a partner,” Brisin adds with a quirk of his lips. “What’s that about?”

 

“He’s name is Raze,” Reks replies as he adds more magicite to the fire. “He’s Nabradian, from Nabudis.”

 

“Damn, what unfortunate circumstances led his parents to _that_ name?” Brisin comments with a dramatic sigh before grinning again. “But honestly, what brought that on? You’ve always been a solo rider.”

 

“He caught me in a charitable mood, that’s all,” Reks says, staring into the fire.

 

Brisin gives him an unconvinced stare, which continues until Reks sighs and adds, “Fine. He also knows Captain Basch is innocent. Even tried to find me so that I would know that I had an ally.”

 

The Landissir gives a thoughtful hum, tapping his fingers on his knee. “And, what made you realize that the man was an imposter?”

 

Ah, so Brisin had also come for answers. Reks skewers four succulent fruits, along with some meat he had packed, and puts them on the fire before answering. “He may have looked like the Captain, but he spoke in an Archadian accent,” he explains. “And he responded to me, when I called him Judge Magister Gabranth.”

 

“But you’re saying he looks liked Basch?” Brisin replies.

 

“Yeah, unbelievably so,” Reks admits with a sigh. “But, not fully- there was something different… It was the eyes- his eye colour was off.”

 

“Oh?” the Landissir comments with a hum, looking remarkably unsurprised by the news. Reks’ eyes narrow as he glances at the other man.

 

“Why do you not sound surprised?” he asks, turning to face Brisin completely. “Do you know something that you’re not telling me?”

 

Brisin shakes his head. “I’m as lost as you,” he says. “What of Vaan? Any news there?”

 

Reks knows that it is an attempt to move the conversation elsewhere but does not point it out. Brisin must have his own reasons for what he is doing. “Yes, actually,” Reks replies with a nod. “The woman- I think she’s the reason Vaan was taken.”

 

“Which woman?” Brisin says, pulling out the skewers of food, and passing one to Reks.

 

“You know. Vayne Solidor’s,” Reks answers, biting into the food. It’s overcooked, because Reks got distracted by the conversation.

 

“Lady Galbana?” Brisin asks with a raised brow before frowning. “There’s just no way. She is an angel too pure and good for Ivalice. She would never been involved in such a diabolical plot.”

 

“That’s what I hear,” Reks replies. Lady Galbana doesn’t have a single bad rumour about her, which Reks finds hard to believe. “But, she’s commonborn right? Must have been lonely for her.”

 

Brisin supports his head on his left hand, the right still holding his skewer. “Aye, I can see that. Loneliness can kill a man,” he mutters the last words to himself.

 

“I’m going soon- to confront her,” Reks says, pressing his hands together. “I’m taking the gil with me.”

 

The Landissir raises a brow at the words. “What makes you think she’s connected?” he asks, looking unconvinced. “She really is the best thing that’s happened to Archadia. I just don’t think she’d be involved.”

 

Reks glares, crossing his arms. “Ugh. You just like her because she’s doing all those things for Landis,” he mutters. “And if she isn’t involved, and she’s as good as everyone says, then if nothing else, she’ll try to help me.”

 

Brisin makes a small tilting motion, as if to acquiesce to Reks’ point. “I guess that’s true enough. But enough of this- tell me more of this mysterious partner of yours.”

 

***

Brisin leaves in the morning, energetic despite having spent most of the night badgering Reks about Raze. He wonders how the older man manages to remain so peppy.

 

Brisin must have visited to ensure that Reks was well- despite his rough looks, he is prone to worry.

 

Reks is happy that the man cared enough to seek him out, but the way the Landissir had responded to the news of Basch’s Archadian doppelganger was very suspicious.

 

The thought nags at Reks the entire trip, only to be pushed to the back of his mind when he returns to Rabanastre.

 

***

 

It is five months into their alliance when Raze slips off his headscarf, so nonchalantly. They are sitting by a small fire when it occurs, the blue light of the protective crystal giving the fire a strange glow. Though he feels shallow for it, the first thing Reks notices is that Raze is very handsome, with pale blond hair that is a shade lighter than Vaan’s. It’s a face Reks recognizes, though he can’t recall from where. It isn’t a common face though, so Reks cannot say where he’s seen it.

 

“I thought you planned on hiding your face forever,” Reks comments with raised brow, ripping off a strip of jerky with his teeth. Behind them the hide of the mark is stretched between four poles, the skin drying in the hot climate.

 

Raze smiles at him- it is so much better to see his whole face brighten instead of seeing just the eyes crinkle.

 

“I trust you,” the Nabradian states blandly, though his face is flushed. “We are partners, after all. We should not keep things hidden between us.”

 

“I don’t know why you felt the need to hide,” Reks says, trying to keep the conversation light. Having someone’s trust is a heavy burden and the last person that had trusted him had done so in vain. “I mean, you have a fine face. Not a single scar or weird birth mark.”

 

Raze laughs in reply, tilting his head up to face the night sky. “If it is any consolation,” he says with a wink. “You, too, have a fine face.”

 

***

After that night, something shifts in their relationship, moving steadily further away from simple hunting companions. There is a deep trust shared between them that Reks hasn’t had in a long time, not since Vaan. They begin sharing stories about their lives before the war. Raze focuses on his adventures with his brothers and it is obvious that he hadn’t had a close relationship with his parents. Reks speaks about travelling with his father and learning magick from his mother; he never speaks of Vaan.

 

Sooner than he expected, Reks brings Raze into Clan Centurio, confident that the Nabradian will impress Montblanc. Raze gets Montablanc’s acceptance with ease, since so many of his clan members, including Tomaj and Monid, support him.

 

Raze shows his face to no one except for Reks, and his heart feels warm whenever Raze smiles at him. He’s the only one privy to such beauty.

 

It’s overwhelming, this feeling in his heart, but for some odd reason Reks doesn’t want it to stop.

 

***

 _Holy Land Mount Bur-Omisace_ _,_ _Year_ _704 Old Valendian_

 

There is more to bring this year, with Raze assisting with loot collection, and Reks actually struggles to bring everything up to the mountain. He comes alone, of course- Raze trusts him with everything but Reks cannot bring himself to do the same, not yet.

 

The mountain itself is busier than ever. The refugee camp has expanded, eating into areas formerly set aside for pilgrims and merchants, and there is a perpetual air of sadness that no one can shake off. Reks moves quickly to pass the items to an acolyte, so that they can be distributed. A New Nabradia has formed next to Landis Lane, another reminder of the great loss that occurred from the war. Without a doubt, it is the camp in most need of supplies this year, so Reks does not hesitate to donate to this camp.

 

Supplies successfully dropped off, he moves quickly to plant the Galbana lilies, as the stones are not an easy load to lug around. When Reks arrives at the dragon cliff, he sees that the flowers had spread all across the top of the dragon’s head, giving the appearance of a crown adorning the stone face. Reks has a good laugh about that before he sneaks up to the top to plant the lilies he had brought along.

 

“Goodness me, who would have thought it would be you that was planting the lilles,” a voice calls out from behind him as Reks is patting down the dirt on the newly planted flowers.

  

Reks turns to see Khala, dressed in the robes of an acolyte. “Khala!” he says with a smile, getting to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

 

The nu mou walks slowly with a limp that wasn’t there before. It must be an injury from the war. “I thought I said I was coming to the mountain for safety,” Khala states with a tilt of his head. “Unless my old age is getting to me?”

 

“You’re not that old!” Reks says, hugging the nu mou. He had been so worried- Brisin had been silent about Khala’s wellbeing when they had met that Reks had feared the worst. “And, I didn’t think you would stay here after the war was over.”

 

They catch up there, sitting on the steps of the path, Reks mentioning Raze and his hunting, and Khala describing his new life as an acolyte.

 

“They told me,” Khala says, after a moment of silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. “That the one that planted these flowers was a hunter. Not wealthy from what they could see, but always willing to what he can to help. The flowers too, though you may not know it, the way they flourish here give the people hope.”

 

Reks can’t help the red that creeps to his cheeks. “Well, that’s too much of a compliment,” he replies, waving his hands. “I only bring what I find on my hunts! I wish I could do more.”

 

“Nay, what you do is enough. One good deed inspires another,” Khala says, tapping his feet on the stone steps. “But that’s neither here nor there. So, how long will you be staying in Bur-Omisace?”

 

“About a week? I was going to see if you needed me to hunt anything down that was bothering the people up here,” Reks replies. “I told my hunting partner I was pilgrimaging for three weeks but since I came to the mountain by foot, I lost a bit of time.”

 

Khala nods, his eyes closed. “A week should be enough for now,” he mumbles to himself before turning to Reks. “Could I trouble you for another favour while you are here?”

 

That is how Reks begins teaching rudimentary magick to those who are willing and have the spark to learn. It’s a brilliant plan, to have the refugees grow self-reliant with magick, especially with so few healers on the mountain, and Reks has to applaud Khala for arranging an operation such as this. A small group of refugees, all with enough innate magick to be worth putting the time to teach, several from each camp so that they in turn can teach others.

 

A week isn’t very much time to teach complex magick, even a simple cure is difficult to learn in that time frame. So Reks teaches them fire, simple but versatile. Fire can be used for light, for heat, and for protection. By the end of the week, over half of them can cast the magick when they wish, and the others are close to it. But Reks is not the type of do things halfway, so he spends another three days making sure everyone masters it. He can go home by teleportation stone.

 

“I’ll ask if Brisin can bring up some of the magick scrolls I have that I don't use anymore- they can self study them. Some of them have great potential,” Reks tells Khala as he packs to return to Rabanastre. “Next year, I’ll plan for a little longer. Maybe I can get to teaching them cure at least, so they can patch themselves after minor incidents.”

 

Khala beams at Reks and presses a hand on his wrist. “Oh Reks, it is only because they had such a patient teacher to guide them,” he says. “Thank you. I know you spent more time than you hoped for.”

 

“One good deed inspires another,” Reks says, repeating the words Khala said before. “I hope they continue to grow and help others to grow too.”

 

***

_Meridai Delta, Territory of Royal Rozarria, Year 705 Old Valendian_

 

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” Raze says one day while they are tracking the Tzekelkhan, an annoyingly well hidden Coeurl type beast that has been attacking caravans along the Southeastern Rozarrian coast.

 

“I don’t really celebrate it,” Reks replies with a shrug. “Besides, I didn’t think it was that important.”

 

Raze looks put out, his expression clear due to the fact that his headscarf is resting around his neck. “You should have told me,” he says with what Reks would call a pout. “I never would have suggested we take this mark if I had known.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Reks says with a shrug. “Like I said, I don’t make a big deal out of it.”

 

“I had wished to get a gift for you.”

 

Reks’ cheeks warm at the words and he fiddles with his hair to distract himself. “Oh um, thank you,” he says, tapping the other on the arm. “We can celebrate it when we get back to Rabanastre. We’ll go to the pub to celebrate.”

 

Raze laughs but shakes his head. “I would like nothing else,” he says. “But I’m under direct orders to get you to Moniq’s home when we return. She is quite a character.”

 

“She yelled at you, didn’t she?” Reks asks with a raised brow, unable to keep a grin on his face.

 

Their conversation is cut short when their mark arrives. Reks cannot say whether he is relieved at its arrival or not.

 

***

On their way back to Rabanastre, Raze tells him his own birthday. It is on the same day as one of the Nabradian princes. Reks only recognizes the date because he had been trapped in Nabudis for two weeks because of the celebrations.

 

When he makes the comment, Raze simply laughs and mentions how everyone in court forgot his birthday because of it.

 

***

His last birthday had been quiet, and this one is as well. Moniq complains loudly that it would have been bigger if they hadn’t run off to find that mark and pushed back the celebration a week later. But Reks is happy with the people that came, and thanks Moniq for organizing it once again.

 

Raze catches him alone and pulls him to the courtyard where things are quiet.

 

“I thought you didn’t have time to get anything,” Reks says when Raze pulls out a small box.

 

“I lied. I simply had to retrieve it from my quarters,” Raze admits with a smile.

 

Reks takes it, feeling oddly shy. He cannot help the gasp that comes out when he sees what is inside. He can feel the magick that pulses through the pendant, a wind crystal glinting in the centre.  

 

“This is too much,” Reks argues, attempting to return the item. “It’s beautiful but-”

 

“I’ve always had it,” Raze says, as though that would reassure Reks. “It replenishes your magick faster. However… You’ve seen me. I am ill-suited for magick. Tis’ a waste for me to keep it.”

 

Reks knows he should refuse such an extravagant gift. The pendant is more than just a gift between friends, like it is the beginning of something more.

 

He takes the pendant from its box and presses to his chest, thanking Raze instead.

 

***

_Henne Mines, Year 705 Old Valendian_

 

Reks wakes to chapped lips on his own and the tingling of white magick on his skin. Raze never uses magick. He isn’t proficient in it and he always complains that to expect him to use magick is to want him to fail.

 

“Raze?” he coughs out, his vision still blurry. The Nabradian’s face is a vague shape above him.

 

Raze laughs before leaning down to kiss him again. “I thought I lost you,” he mutters against his neck. “We were out of potions and that damned snake got you and I didn’t know what to do and by the gods, my useless magick was enough.”

 

He lifts Reks as carefully as he can, though Reks still flinches at the motion.

 

“Do not fear,” Raze continues, breathing heavily. “We’re almost out. We’ll get to the Garifs, and they’ll give us aid.”

 

“Did, did we get the mark?” Reks asks, tilting his head back to squint up at Raze.

 

Raze replies with a laugh, a hitch hysterical. “You’re wounded from your side and you ask whether we killed it or not?!” he says, shaking his head. “Yes, we did. We killed it.”

 

“Good,” Reks mumbles out, eyes drooping. Raze continues to talk but it fades into white noise.

 

***

The Garif manage to neutralize the serpent’s poison and Reks spends the next few days in one of the tents they provided. Tagamu, the farmer who posted the bill in the first place, thanks them for ridding the beast and offer them the tent until Reks is well enough to travel back.

 

The first few days are a blur for Reks, but he remembers Raze’s voice, murmuring soothing words to him as he fights the poison. When he is well enough to remain conscious but not enough to actually move, Raze brings him food and drink as devotedly as any husband.

 

Reks remembers the kiss, though everything after is hazy at best. He waits and waits for Raze to mention it but the Nabradian steers clear from the topic.

 

Finally, when Raze makes no move to bring it up, Reks breaches the subject with all the tact and grace he has, which is none.

 

“Why’d you kiss me?” Reks asks sharply, crossing his arms in front of him. As though he hadn’t been expecting it. As though something hadn’t changed from the moment Raze had pulled off his headscarf without a care.

 

Raze blinks owlish at him. “I-”

 

“And don’t try to deny it,” Reks cuts in. “I may have been suffering from blood loss and poison but I know I didn’t dream that.”

 

The Nabradian shakes his head and sits next to him before grasping his hand tight, as though he fears that Reks will run. He sighs and smiles at him, despite a furrow between his brows. “I didn’t want you to find out like this,” Raze admits. “In fact, I wished to keep quiet forever! But-” here, Raze bites his lips and pushes his free hand through his hair. “You were injured and I realized that I may never get another chance… Well, you can erase that day from your mind. I will never attempt anything of the sort, ever again. In fact, I would be ever grateful if you just-”

 

“You’re rambling,” Reks comments as he raises his brows. He tilts his head to force Raze to meet his eyes. “And, you still haven’t told me why.”

 

The other hunter gasps out a scoff, giving him a smile that looks pained. “Is it not obvious? It’s because I love you,” Raze says with a sigh before looking hopefully up at him. “What are your thoughts?”

 

Love? Reks freezes, tensing. Love, Raze? Is that the warm feeling he feels whenever Raze smiles at him? Is that what the urge to smile idiotically whenever Raze laughs is? Is that what had been steadily colouring their interactions- that feeling of eminent change that Reks felt on his birthday? It is different from when he thinks of Vaan. He feels unconditional desire to see his brother safe and sound- a need for his brother to be near. Different from the love he feels for Moniq and Monid and Rori and Penelo.

 

Is this the love minstrels sing to the high heavens about?

 

Raze looks away, laughing depreciatingly. “I have made you uncomfortable.”

 

He makes to stand, but now it is Reks that grabs firm, trapping Raze by the hand.

 

“Don’t run,” Reks says in a soft voice. “Just- just give me a second.”

 

Raze sits but does not meet his eyes. Reks tries to verbalize his jumbled thoughts, hating the despondent expression on the Nabradian’s face.

 

“For me, there was never anything but my brother,” Reks explains, using his hand to tilt Raze’s face and meet his eyes. “I never imagined for a second that there was room in my heart for anyone else.”

 

At Raze’s silence, Reks continues with another sigh. “And the love you’re talking about… I’ve never felt something like that before.”

 

“I see,” Raze says, closing his eyes.

 

“So, I didn’t realize what I was feeling around you was that,” Reks admits with an embarrassed huff, and has to stifle a laugh as Raze’s head snaps to face him again. “I don’t know if what I feel is love, but it sure feels like it.”

 

“Let us figure out together then,” Raze says with a smile, his pale blue eyes lit up. He places both his hands on each side of Reks’ face, bringing him in for a kiss.

 

Reks stops him by sliding a hand between them. “But if we are going to start this,” he says. “There can’t be all this tiptoeing we do. I don’t want to start anything with our burdens holding us back. I want you to tell me about you; no more hiding. I need you to trust me.”

 

Raze bites his lips before nodding with resolve. “I shall. But, it must go both ways Reks,” he answers, running his hands down Reks’ arms. “I will trust you, but you must to do the same for me.”

 

“…When we return to Rabanastre, we’ll talk,” Reks promises with a small smile though a part of him regrets asking. He isn’t sure if he’s ready to let anyone in about Vaan.

 

But to share his burden will lift the mountain that has lain on his shoulders for the last three years.

 

***

 

Reks casts the last silence spell onto the walls, making sure that no eavesdroppers can be privy to their conversation. There is no telling what secrets will be revealed today. They sit facing each other across Raze’s dining table in tense silence. The other hunter’s apartment is in the city proper, though still cheap as it is by the Aerodome.

 

“So, I guess I’ll start,” Reks says, gripping the teacup Raze passes him with unnecessary strength. “First off, why do you hide your face?”

 

“I must confess, I have not been completely honest with you,” Raze replies before straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. He takes a deep breath, as though he is about to go to battle. “Raze is but a moniker, a mask I have hidden behind. My true name is Rasler Heios Nabradia. Third Prince to the kingdom of Nabradia.”

 

Raz-no, _Rasler_ bows as he makes his introduction, shoulders tensed. As he gets up again, he rubs the back of his neck, smiling tightly. “Does this change anything?” Rasler asks, placing his folded hands on the table.

 

It changes everything. Reks is some orphan brat and Raze- Rasler- is a _prince_. But Reks can see that those words are not what Rasler needs to hear now.

 

“Why would it?” Reks says instead, sipping the tea. It’s chamomile, used for calming people. “Other than your name, you have never pretended to be another. You didn’t hide your noble birth and you never bared any falsehood towards me.”

 

Of course, he expected a noble title, but a Nobleman and a prince are worlds apart. Still, Rasler’s heart was never hidden to Reks. At the end of it all, wasn’t that what Reks fell in love with? The noble spirit, the gentle warrior?

 

He reaches over and places a hand over Rasler’s, a stronger belief of his words than before. “Raze or Rasler, your name doesn’t change who you are to me.”  

 

“But I abandoned my post, my country,” Rasler admits grimly. “And I hid the fact I lived; do you not think me a coward for doing this? My people that I abandoned, that needed a leader?”

 

“If you had come forward, they would have called you an imposter,” Reks says, shaking his head. “You would have been killed right away. What good would it have done to throw your life away needlessly?”

 

But even as he says that, Reks knows that the refugee crisis could have been minimized had Rasler been there. Maybe that is wishful thinking, maybe Rasler could have done nothing. But if the Nabradians had the guidance of a king and a united flag Rasler’s existence gave them, they may not have felt the need to flee to the Mountain for protection. Again, this is not the time for this. What Rasler needs right now is reassurance. Besides, who is Reks to tell him how to live his life? He remembers when they first met and Rasler’s only wish was that he could live his life as he wanted without acting a role others’ had built for him.

 

Rasler laughs, a weight lifted from his shoulders, and intertwines their fingers together. “Reks, you truly are a gift from the gods. Thank you- thank you for accepting me.”

 

They stay in peaceful silence for several minutes, sipping their tea. Reks spends this time digesting what he’s heard. Raze is Rasler, a _prince._ How in Ivalice did he get involved with someone like that?

 

“Can I ask you another question?” Reks says and when Rasler nods, he continues his query. “Why didn’t you go to the resistance when you returned to Rabanastre?”

 

Rasler stares out his window, where the city bustles below them. “Originally, I was going to,” he answers, his eyes distant. “But then I heard the way they spoke of Basch and I could no longer trust them. Basch was the one that saved my life and fearing an assassination attempt while I was recovering, he created a cadaver to mimic me. That sort of loyalty to Dalmasca, do you think it can be so easily erased?”

 

Reks shakes his head. “No, I don’t. Captain Azelas and I had a disagreement over that exact issue.”

 

“Would you have joined otherwise?” Rasler asks, tilting his head slightly.

 

“Probably not,” Reks admits with a small chuckle. “I never had any deep loyalty to Dalmasca and joining the Resistance would have not helped me.”

 

“I can understand that,” Rasler replies. “The war was unpopular to begin with… It’s my turn now, is it not?”

 

Reks nods, almost knowing what the prince will ask. It will be about his gil collecting, or about his brother.

 

Rasler runs his thumb up and down the top of Reks’ hand, trying to sooth him. “Why do you collect gil so?”

 

Ah, right on the mark. “It’s a long story,” Reks says with a sigh, wondering where he should begin. Wondering how he can explain without bursting into a rage.

 

Rasler smiles in encouragement. “We have all the time you need,” he says.

 

Reks twists the ring around his middle finger, watching as the blue jewel glints in the sunlight. It must have taken great courage for Rasler to reveal the truth, and Reks draws strength from that. “It began with my little brother, Vaan, and his idiotically big heart.”

 

Reks pushes a hand through his hair, sips his tea and forces himself to recount the past. It is difficult, talking about Vaan, because he’s kept all those memories bottle up and hidden away for three year. At the same time however, it is liberating, to be able to share the good times they had, to remember Vaan as more than just the brother he’s lost. When he gets to Vayne Solidor, Reks contemplates removing his name entirely but stops himself. They promised to keep nothing between them.

 

Rasler’s eyebrows rise higher to his hairline the further along Reks gets with his story and by the end of it, the Nabradian is frowning, arms crossed in front of him.

 

“What are you thinking?” Reks asks, reaching across the table to tap the prince’s hand.

 

Rasler leans in for a quick peck. Reks starts at the motion, still unused to such displays of affection. “Simply in awe of your bravery,” he replies with a smile. “But, I would like for you to stop raising gil at the expense of your own safety. As a younger brother, I can tell you that we too worry about our elder brothers, more than you think.”

 

***

 _Holy Land Mount Bur-Omisace_ _,_ _Year_ _705 Old Valendian_

 

This year, when Reks visits Mount Bur-Omisace, he brings more than just the usual supplies. He brings some of the magick scrolls he’s long stopped using, the ones he hadn’t sent off with Brisin the first time. Khala, as always, is soft spoken in speech but clear in his appreciation for Reks’ aid.

 

The group he teaches is larger this year but luckily he has some proactive helpers. Many of the students from last year continued to train by themselves, as well as under the tutelage of a magickally trained Acolyte. Like before, he starts to teach fire to the novices and water to the more experienced ones.

 

Water is not a spell that brings water from nowhere, but a magick that condensates the water in the air around the caster in a useable form. It will give people access to water in emergency situations.

 

Unfortunately, his classes are cut short by an urgent request to get rid of a fell beast that is terrorizing the Paramina rift. But it is enough. The students from last year, as well as some refugees already familiar with magick take the reins. This time next year, Reks won’t even need to be there to teach.

 

He tries to spend some time with the Nabradian refugees, to gauge their opinions. Most are fearful of even leaving the mountain, the horrors that befell them in Nabudis still so vivid in their minds. However, some are despondent in their loss of heritage, at the loss of their nation. Reks contemplates the thought at night, when there is little to be done. He cannot say Rasler failed his people, but if the prince returned, he would certainly make a positive impact on many of the Nabradians here- even if it is just as a symbol of hope. Perhaps, he will ask Rasler to come up to the mountain one day, just so he can talk to his people.

 

Reks spends time on the Dragon head cliff on his last days on the mountain, surrounded by the flowers he and Vaan had planted. He speaks to the lilies of his year, about the strange changes that have shifted his life. He doubts he will ever bring Rasler here as this is something private that Reks wants to do alone. But talking to the plants about the Nabradian makes Reks’ heart warm, as though Rasler is there beside him.

 

***

They move into Reks’ house in Lowtown. The secret room is too well-made to leave behind and Rasler agrees that since they aren’t at home that often, they shouldn’t have separate residences and bleed money. Reks still calls him “Raze” when they are outside, out of respect for Rasler’s choice but when they are out hunting, or in the privacy of their home, he calls him Rasler, and the prince laughs and whispers of how he’s dreamt of Reks calling him by his real name.

 

It is wonderful, having to wake up to warmth next to him. To have someone to talk to during meals. Then he thinks about how Vaan doesn’t have that chance, will never get that chance, until he is free from Vayne Solidor, and soon Reks feels guilty for his happiness.

 

Rasler tells him that he shouldn’t feel guilty for being content; Vaan would want him to be so.

 

But he can’t help the shame that gnaws through him whenever he thinks about Vaan. It eats away at him until Reks can no longer take it and he decides he must make a trip to Archades, even if it is for naught.

 

Archades is a city strange and foreign to both of them. They huddle close together and attempt to avoid as many people as they can. Reks is not as familiar with the city as he could be because he tends to avoid marks that involve Archadian petitioners. Reks clutches his satchel tightly, the bag heavy with gold- easier to carry around than the equivalent in gils. Rasler fidgets with his headscarf, making sure it hides his whole face.

 

“I doubt they’d recognize you,” Reks comments, squeezing his hand to reassure him. “I mean, I saw your wedding and I didn’t even recognize you.”

 

“I’m sure you were distracted by the fanfare at the wedding, while anyone that recognizes me here would be because they faced me in battle,” Rasler replies with a scoff. “Let’s move quickly. How do you propose we reach Lady Galbana?”

 

“Pay my way in,” Reks says, lifting the satchel. “And hopefully still have enough leftover to buy Vaan back.”

 

But Rasler’s casual mention of the woman startles Reks. “Wait, you know Lady Galbana?” Reks asks, turning to face the Nabradian. “How?”

 

“Before Archadia invaded, their emissaries came to Nabradia several times under the pretext of mediation,” Rasler answers, keeping his voice soft to hide their conversation within the bustle of the street. “Lady Galbana would accompany Vayne Solidor.”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Reks says with a hiss, frowning at the Nabradian, before adding. “What’s she like?”

 

“You never showed any desire to know anything about her so I never mentioned it,” Rasler replies with a soft hum. “I apologize. As for Lady Galbana…”

 

Rasler goes silent as though in thought, his brows furrowed. They pass several shops before Rasler speaks again.

 

“She is exactly what you expect her to be,” he says with another frown. “She speaks Commonborn but there is an undeniable power that she possesses.”

 

“Obviously- the Solidor’s with her,” Reks mutters.

 

Rasler shakes his head. “No, that is not it. Not to say it doesn’t help,” he says, expanding on the thought. “But, she has a presence that cannot be ignored or underestimated…. It is difficult to explain but she will act in the way one perceives her to be.”   

 

“I don’t really understand,” Reks says, tilting his head. Some hair falls into his eyes at the action so Reks blows some of the strands back. Damn, Archades is unnecessarily big.

 

“When I met her, she seemed to be quiet but thoughtful,” Rasler explains. “When I spoke with her, it was as I expected- she rarely spoke but when she did, they were always profound words. My brother on the other hand, thought she was vapid and empty headed, a bauble for Vayne Solidor. It seemed her actions when interacting with him confirmed his thought.”

 

Reks takes the time to roll his head around the words. To delve into the enigma of Lady Galbana.

 

Rasler stares at Reks with a frown, prompting the hunter to raise his brows. “What?”

 

The Nabradian stays quiet, his lips pressed tightly. They continue silently for several minutes, until Rasler clears his throat, looking even more uncomfortable than before.

 

“Ready to talk about it?” Reks asks, running a thumb down his lover’s arm.

 

Rasler still looks uncomfortable as he speaks his next words. “Reks, did you ever consider- that perhaps Lady Galbana is related to you? That the reason Vaan was picked was because your bloodline?”

 

“Never! My family was no one important. What makes you say that?” Reks says, confusion clear on his face.

 

Rasler’s frown deepens and he grabs Reks’ wrist to hold him in place. He meets the hunter’s eyes to confirm how serious his words are. “Reks, Lady Galbana resembles you greatly. You could pass for siblings,” Rasler explains. “If I hadn’t been told that Vaan was your younger brother, I would think the sibling he took was Lady Galbana.”

 

Reks’ mouth feels as though the desert sand has filled it, unable to do speak or even swallow. He tries to speak, to argue against the prince’s words, but instead his mind turns back to the nightmare- the ghostly voice, the pain and the fear.

 

All Reks manages to muster is a laugh, too weak and fake to mean much. “Impossible,” he states. “Lady Galbana is already 20, isn’t she? Vaan can’t be her….. As for the relations- my father has some half-siblings that I’ve never met- maybe she really is a distant cousin.”

 

Reks smiles in an attempt to reassure both himself and Rasler. He thinks it works well enough. “If she is related, then there is even more reason for her to help me out,” he says. “Come on. Let’s get going.”

 

Rasler follows along without question, and Reks is thankful that the Nabradian leaves the topic alone.

 

They arrive at the taxi station to Tsenoble before noon, before it gets too busy.

 

Tsenoble is where the nobles live, where the imperial palace is located, and Reks’ ultimate goal. However, they are blocked by a blank-faced guard who looks unimpressed by either of them.

 

“Chop?” the guard asks, not even a twitch of amusement on his face.

 

Reks and Rasler shares a looks of bewilderment. “What is a _chop_?” Reks says, narrowing his eyes at him while Rasler glares at the guard through his headscarf.

 

“No chop? Then how about a 1 000 000 gil entrance fee,” the guard replies blandly. “No chop, no gil, _no entrance_.”

 

Rasler chokes a cough of disbelief. “That’s an insane amount of money!” he says with a glare. “Just to enter Tsenoble?”

 

The guard sneers, the first expression he has made in their conversation. “Tsenoble is no place for Ardents like you,” he explains with a haughty sigh before his eyes dart over to Reks, looking over him with appreciation. “ _You_ could probably find yourself a noble to latch onto though, if you work hard enough- doll yourself up a little more.”

 

Reks grabs a hold of Rasler’s arm before the Nabradian can do something as foolhardy as attacking the guard, though he burns with a desire to send the idiot guard flying himself. Disgusting pig- this is why Reks hates Archadians. “Let’s just go,” he mutters with a sigh. They shouldn’t have come- not when they know so little about the Empire.

 

As they meander through the Imperial city, Reks glares at the strange towers and pavilions with distrust. Rasler doesn’t say anything, simply placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing before leading the way back to the Aerodome.

 

“Wait. We might as well check out the shops while we’re here,” Reks says, eyes darting across the numerous stores in the city. “The best way to learn about this place is to talk to people… We need to find out what exactly a chop even is, and why it’s so important! Besides, they must have some unique things here that they don’t have in Dalmasca.”

 

Rasler blinks in surprise but nods with a smile. He will do all he can to help Reks- even if he must stay in this horrible place for awhile longer.

 

***

Rasler rummages through scrolls of magick while Reks speaks to a friendly Ardent about how chops even work. It is not something the Nabradian is interested in and besides that the people grow wary when Rasler looms behind Reks like a silent bodyguard. He can imagine why- someone wrapped up like a mummer can’t look very trustworthy.

 

The former prince pulls out random scrolls and scans them, looking with mild interest at the runes that he finds difficult to read. Rasler knows magick will be a skill that he will never master, but he tries to find one that Reks can possibly use, unique spells that he has yet to encounter. Reks is blessed with a great talent that should not be wasted.

 

He is brought out of his reverie when a small, furry hand grabs his wrist and pushes a round disk in his hand.

 

“What the-” Rasler hisses, trying to pull back, but the small hand is stronger than it looks, holding tight to his hand. He glares down at his attacker, frowning when he sees a Nu-mou. “What in Ivalice do you think you are doing?!”

 

The Nu-mou looks strange, almost deranged, as he stares at Rasler with dark eyes. “The medallion calls for you,” he mutters in a blank tone that reminds Rasler of a priest in the midst of a trance. “The power in Nabudis is yours. Claim it, child of Nabradia.”

 

Rasler tries to take his arm back and claws at the Nu-mou’s hand with little success. “Release me,” he snarls, blue eyes flashing. He would rather not hurt the small creature but if he doesn’t let go, Rasler will have no choice but to do so.

 

Before he can do anything though, Reks rushes in, grabbing the Nu-mou’s shoulder. The Nu-mou breaks out of his trance as Reks taps him and he blinks with confusion, pulling his hand back gingerly.

 

“What’s going on here?” Reks asks, crossing his arms, looking between Rasler and the Nu-mou. He looks with suspicion at the Nu-mou.

 

“I, I know not what came over me,” the Nu-mou stammers. “Please accept my apologies.”

 

“Accepted,” Rasler grunts, holding the round disk for the other to take. It is a silver-lined medallion, now that Rasler looks at it closely. “You tried to force this on me.”

 

“I did?” the Nu-mou says. “…Yes, yes I did.”

 

The Nu-mou bows lowly and Rasler shares a look of bewilderment with Reks.

 

“Yes…I remember now!” the Nu-mou says to himself. “Yes…That must be it… Good sir! You must come with me to meet my teacher!”

 

“You are not making any sense,” Reks says, crouching to meet him at eye level. “Please explain what’s happening.”

 

“Oh! Yes, of course! How rude of me. I am Roh’Kenmu,” the Nu-mou says with another bow. “My teacher Ma’Kleou had order myself and another disciple to find these medallions and bring them to him. However… If the gods themselves have willed that you-” he points to Rasler with expectation. “have this medallion, then you must be the hero spoken of in the legends! The one foretold to defeat the mighty power sealed in the bowels of Nabradia Fortress.”

 

Rasler shakes his head sharply. “There is no power hidden in Verdpale Palace,” he denies.

 

Roh’Kenmu blinks up at them. “But there is. For generations, the Nu-mou have been called every half century to reseal the power within,” he explains. “The seal is about to break but we’ve no power to enter the palace without getting attacked by foul beasts. I believe you will be the key to putting to rest this power permanently.”

 

The Nu-mou fiddles with his staff. “Please sir, I implore you to come with me to see my master,” he says.

 

“That is impossible,” Rasler replies sharply. He had gone back once, to see if Nabradia could be rebuilt from the ashes of its destruction. All he found was a land so ravaged by mist that no life would survive there. To go back and face the devastation his home has seen is too much for him to bear. “I have _no_ plans on going to Nabudis. I am truly sorry.”

 

He catches Reks’ eyes and adds, “Aside from that, I’ve come on another errand. One of upmost importance.”

 

Roh’Kenmu’s face falls but he nods slowly in reluctant acceptance. “I see,” he says. “However, if you change your mind, I shall be here for another two days.”

 

***

“What were you able to learn?” Rasler asks, trying to keep his voice light. Being away from the Nu-mou and standing under the open sky helps. “Of the chops?”

 

“It’ll take awhile,” Reks replies, before tapping his hand on the sheath of his blade. “But, Raze, are you ok with just leaving like this? Roh’Kenmu said that the medallion was _calling_ for you. The power in the palace, it has something to do with you.”

 

“It has nothing to do with me,” Rasler shoots back, shaking his head. “I threw away that place when I abandoned my past. We came to get your brother, remember?”

 

Reks smiles, though it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t use Vaan as an excuse,” he says. “What are you afraid of?”

 

When Rasler doesn’t reply, Reks sighs and leads them to a bench that overlooks the lower pavilions of the city. It is as isolated that they can get in this place. As they sit side by side, Reks fiddles with his seashell ring, staring down at it.

 

“You know, when I first lost Vaan, I avoided going to the Estersands as much as I could,” Reks says, staring past the towering buildings to watch the skyships flying across the sky. “It was so painful… Just to be there, to be surrounded by the place I lost my brother.”

 

Reks faces him, squeezing Rasler’s hand with his own. “But I realized, it’s better to face it than to run from it. Besides, it wasn’t all painful. We had good times there too. You can’t run forever,” he continues, tilting his head to warm his face in the sun’s light. “So, go. Find out what’s waiting for you down there in the Nabradian Palace.”

 

Rasler clenches his hands. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to admit it, but part of why he doesn’t want to go is because he doesn’t want to be alone. When he had gone to Nabudis the last time- Rasler had felt so alone, as if he was the only Nabradian left in the world. To go to his former home and to see the desolation there, it’ll be a physical reminder that he is the last of House Nabradia.

 

He must have said it out loud because Reks smiles at him, radiant as the sun. “You won’t be alone,” he says. “I’ll be with you; we’ll face it together.”

 

Rasler turns to face him. “But, what of your plans with Lady Galbana?”

 

Reks wets his lips, biting them before facing the Nabradian with eyes filled with determination. “Vaan would want me to do this,” he says with certainty. “He’d tell me that he can wait- that helping you should come first. My brother’s like that, always thinking of others.”

 

“You came all this way for _me_. Came to the capital of the country that destroyed yours,” Reks adds, grabbing hold of Rasler’s hand tightly. “I _want_ to do this, so that you can put your ghosts to rest.”

 

***

They find Roh’Kenmu again in the magick shop and he is beyond delighted when they agree to go see his mentor. They buy provisions in Archades, despite the extra cost. It is important to be prepared, as they are unsure of what they will face. Then the three of them take an airship to Nalbina, much to Reks’ displeasure. Rasler stifles a chuckle as Reks glares at him in annoyance. From there, they ride chocobos past the Mosphoran Highwaste and through the Salikawoods.

 

They manage to keep Rasler’s identity a secret, though sometimes Reks almost slips up on his name. He is unused to having another join them on their travels, as hunting is usually something the two of them partake in alone.

 

Rasler gets tenser the closer they get to Nabudis, so Reks tries to keep his calm by distracting him with little anecdotes he’s collected over the years. At the entrance to Nabreus Deadlands, they free their chocobos and unsheathe their weapons. The monsters here, Reks heard, are much fiercer than others, though he personally had never entered here before.

 

Roh’Kenmu’s magick is a tremendous help as they navigate the densely misted marshlands, trying to avoid fighting as much as possible. It is difficult, since many of the beasts cannot be detected until they are right in front of them. They take turns keeping watch, but instead of only one, two keep watch while one sleeps, resulting in them running on very little sleep.

 

Finally, they arrive at a small shrine-like structure, where two other Nu-mou have erected a paling against the undead.

 

“What is that?” Reks asks, nudging Rasler lightly. He casts white magick on the prince, who leans on his javelin as he walks.

 

“It is a shrine to Mitron,” Rasler replies, his pace quickening as they get closer to the barrier. He slams his spear against the skull of what appears to be a former soldier, the armour rotted over time. “It is a popular sect amongst the nomads of Nabradia, who still follow the old religion. They build these layered towers to symbolise that growth does not happen at once but in stagnated periods.”

 

“Look at you, quite the scholar!” Reks comments lightly as he beheads a corpse, wrinkling his nose at the smell. One would think he’d get used to the stench after all this time in the Deadlands but Reks couldn’t ignore it no matter how much Roh’Kenmu told him to.

 

“One of our generals had been of the Mugala people,” Rasler says. “They are one of the largest nomadic tribes in Nabradia.”

 

“Quickly! Jump into the field!” Roh’Kenmu orders as he casts powerful white magick against the fiends. They slide into the safety of the barrier, though Roh’Kenmu’s landing is not quite as graceful.

 

“Roh’Kenmu, who are these strangers?” the oldest Nu-mou asks. “Did you bring the medallion?”

 

“I did, Master Ma’Kleou, but I bring something of greater value,” Roh’Kenmu replies with a bow. “This man, I believe he is the hero spoken of in our stories!”

 

“How can that be?” the other Nu-Mou says. “Roh’Kenmu, you are too ignorant!”

 

“It’s true, Roh’Kenmou!” Roh’Kenmu argues, glaring at what Reks assumes is another disciple “The medallion reacted to him! They wanted him to have it!”

 

“Give it to me,” Ma’Kleou orders and Roh’Kenmu nods and passes the medallion to his master. The leader pulls out another medallion with his free hand so that each hand holds a disk. Each item is dark against the Nu-mou’s pale fur. The old Nu-mou walks towards Reks holding out the disks and Reks stops him with a raise of his hand.

 

“Roh’Kenmu was talking about him,” he says, tilting his head at Rasler. Ma’Kleou hums in understanding and moves towards Rasler.

 

The old Nu-mou stops and everyone watches with anticipation as the medallions seem to shiver in Ma’Kleou’s hands.

 

“Incredible,” Ma’Kleou gasps out, narrowing his eyes at Rasler as though he’s trying to see past his headscarf. “Who are you?”

 

“A son of Nabradia,” Rasler replies, his head bowed to examine the medallions.

 

Ma’Kleou nods, knowing he will not receive anything else. He walks up the steps of the shrine, followed by his two disciples. Reks and Rasler watch from the bottom as the old Nu-mou places each medallion in an indent, then steps back. The three Nu-mou begin muttering in an old, forgotten language that neither Rasler nor Reks understand until an ancient magick erupts from the shrine and intertwines itself into the medallions.

 

With the ceremony finished, Ma’Kleou pulls out the two glowing medallions and also pulls out one from the centre indent that is still dark.

 

Ma’Kleou passes the disks to Rasler, nodding shallowly. “Young hume,” he says. “The gods have willed it so. Go forth into the Necrohol that was once Verdpale Palace and seek within a power unmatched. Seal the beasts of Chaos so that all of Ivalice can be saved.”

 

Rasler’s throat constricts at the weight of the responsibility. This is too much, much too heavy of a load. Did he not fail Ivalice the last time? Did he not fail to keep Dalmasca and Nabradia independent and free? His hands float over the disks, not quite willing to touch them.

 

Just when he thinks it is getting too much, Rasler feels the warmth of Reks’ hand on his shoulder. He is _not_ alone; these are not soldiers blindly following him to their deaths. Reks will shoulder his burden, the same way he shoulders Reks’.

 

Rasler calms himself with an exhale and picks up the medallions, feeling the pulse of power in the stones. “That I be considered worthy,” he recites, remembering the words he said to King Raminas before the battle of Nalbina.

 

The pendants shake in his hands, as though excited for what is to come.

 

***

They accompany the Nu-mou to the relative safety of the Salikawood, where the three insist they can go on their own, before using a teleportation crystal to return to Rabanastre. Reks places the remaining gold back into the storage before accompanying Rasler to buy new armour and sundries.

 

“You do not have to do this,” Rasler says as they prepare for the trip to the Necrohol of Nabudis. “It is my mission to defeat these creatures and my mission alone.”

 

Reks punches him in the arm. “Don’t be stupid,” he replies. “As if you could get through the place alone. How do you plan to survive without anyone there to heal you with magick?”

 

“But Vaan-”

 

“I’d want him to do the same thing if he was faced with the same choices I had,” Reks says with finality, smiling at the prince. “I’ve made my decision.”

 

Packing for the battle is completed quickly as they are long used to preparing for hunts. Penelo slips them several extra potions, always worried for the two of them. They tell no one their destination, and all their acquaintances assume that they are simply going on another hunt.

 

Their trek back to Nabudis is uneventful, teleporting to the Salikawood and walking to a different part of the woods that Rasler says will lead directly to the palace.

 

Reks knows that this is no ordinary fiend that they will fight, but for now, it seems oddly routine.

 

***

 

Rasler releases a shaky sigh when they slip into the ruins of Verdpale Palace. Parts of the walls lie in shambles and some areas are flooded from the lake water. Reks casts float on them both, the spell spoken almost silently. Rasler had warned him that the palace would still have some traps active despite the destruction.

 

Reks squeezes the Nabradian’s shoulder. “Come on,” he says. “We should get moving.”

 

“I grew up here,” Rasler murmurs, smiling bitterly at the ruin. “This place used to house over 800 people.”

 

The Nabradian squares his shoulders. “I apologize. Let us move.”

 

Reks nods but elbows Rasler as he goes. “There is no shame in reminiscing,” he says. “There is nothing to apologize for… But, if possible, let’s reminisce in a safer area.”

 

***

The medal of Bravery opens into a chamber where a mighty beast lays waiting. But with several Holy motes they found along the way there, it is an easy victory. Nothing to write home about, if Reks had to make a judgement- just a Humbaba that grew a little stronger than the rest.

 

The medallion of Love forces them to fight a tiny bunny with the strength of the fiercest wyrm. This creature stronger than the Humbaba, but still easily won.

 

The darken medallion lights up when they’ve defeated both creatures.

 

“I don’t know why the Nu-mou thought those things would destroy Ivalice,” Reks comments, sipping his potion as they make their way to the final chamber.

 

Rasler looks thoughtfully at the last medallion. “Perhaps those other two were only gatekeepers to the true threat. Only by defeating those two was the final medallion activated,” he says, turning the disk this way and that. The crest on the medal makes Rasler widen his eyes. “This… This is my family’s crest!”

 

“It’s in your family’s palace, that kind of makes sense doesn’t it?” Reks says, raising his brows. The Durandal served its purpose well today- its sharpness hadn’t dulled despite the hours of battle Reks had undergone. He will have to thank Brisin again the next time he writes.

 

“True enough. But I thought the Nu-mou spoke false when they told me House Nabradia was actively involved in this,” Rasler admits with thoughtful hum. “Well, regardless, it is what it is.”

 

Though they talk about the last monster being stronger, Reks is pretty confident they’ll be ok.

 

That is until they see the enemy, then he’s not so confident.

 

“Chaos,” Rasler gasps out, face paling when he sees the strange creature.

 

It is a giant- deep green with armour-like skin, sitting in the lotus-position upon an urn. Flanking it levitates two large structures that each hold two mighty blades. It commands the air, that’s all Reks can tell for sure.

 

“It’s what?” Reks asks, eyes not leaving the creature. Is it a man-made beast? Or some sort of ancient machine? Its skin is covered in glowing runes the move across it like a living tattoo.

 

“Chaos, Walker of the Wheel,” Rasler replies. “The Mugala speaks of a being created by the Gods, as Mitron was, but it sought to rally against its creator, drunk on its arrogance.”

 

“They expect us to kill a god?!” Reks shouts out, bewildered. “That’s crazy!”

 

“Chaos is no god. Though he was designed to rule over us, he too is but a creation of the gods,” Rasler says, lifting his spear in challenge. “We can win.”

 

Reks prepares himself by positioning for battle. He must trust that Rasler speaks true- he has no knowledge of these things.

 

Reks, always the faster of the two, manages to dart between the rotating blades and slashes at Chaos with his blade. It is a clean hit but it has absolutely no effect on Chaos. Reks pulls Rasler back just as the Esper releases a typhoon-like attack that blasts fierce winds at them.

 

“Weapons have no effect!” he yells out to Rasler. “We have to use magick or technick!”

 

Rasler looks bewilderedly at him. “What?!” he calls back. “Damn!”

 

Reks casts haste on both of them, to ensure that they will both be able to dodge the Esper’s rapid attacks. Then he uses Telekinesis on the Esper and hopes that it will do something.

 

It doesn’t do much, but it does seem to damage the beast, and Reks continues to use Telekinesis on Chaos.

 

“Reks!” Rasler calls out, narrowly dodging a flying blade. “I need you to get ready to cure me! I’m going to use Souleater!”

 

Reks resists the urge to throw his blade at his partner. Only Rasler would think to use such a dangerous technick that uses one’s own life to damage an enemy.

 

“Just use Telekinesis!” Reks calls back, casting the white magick despite the complaint.

 

“It’s too weak! Time is of the essence!” Rasler replies stubbornly and begins to cast the technick.

 

“That hardheaded idiot,” Reks mutters, though he begins focusing his magick to cast curaga on Rasler. The Nabradian is right, time is of the essence. They will tire out long before Chaos does. Souleater does more damage, and Rasler has the increased strength and vitality that is better suited for Souleater.

 

With Rasler using Souleater and Reks healing him after every attack, they are able to defeat Chaos, but just barely. It isn’t easy and a couple of times Reks fears for their lives, but they manage to defeat him after what feels like days of nonstop battling. By the end of it, Reks’ body burns from magick overuse and Rasler sways from the consequences of using Souleater. Reks runs towards the prince and stands next to the stubborn Nabradian to help steady him.

 

When Chaos falls, there is such a great gust of wind that for a second Reks thinks that it is coming in for another attack. Instead, the four blades that had been flying to attack them clatter to the ground and the structures flanking Chaos crash to the floor. There is a burst of pale green light that envelopes Chaos, which then flows down towards them and surrounds Rasler. Rasler gasps a choked breath and collapses with a groan.

 

Reks’ world freezes.

 

***

 _Rasler Heios Nabradia_. A deep rumble roars in his ears.

 

Rasler wakes in a strange dimension, where nothing but a sea of white light stretches as far as the eye can see.

 

“Where am I? Where’s Reks?” he calls out to the voice. “Show yourself!”

 

Chaos appears before him and Rasler tries to grab his weapon, only to realize that he is unguarded.

 

 _Rasler Heios Nabradia_. The voice says once more, and Rasler realizes it is coming from the Esper itself. _It has been many years since a scion of your bloodline bested me in combat._

 

“I know not what you mean,” he says, tense with trepidation. “There have been no records of you in my family history.”

 

 _Your forefather, Helios Sucard Nabradia, bested me in combat in his youth._ The Esper states. _Yet, he feared his descendent would not have the power to defeat me, and so had me sealed by the Nu-mou, to keep me hidden until a worthy heir came forth._

Rasler furrows his brows but nods nonetheless, still suspicious of the creature. “How do we proceed from here?” he asks.

 

 _Son of Nabradia, you have bested I, the Walker of the Wheel. Now I am bound in servitude to you_. Chaos rumbles. _I tell you to seek the other power Helios Sucard Nabradia left for the one mighty enough to bind me. Seek you the door hidden to all but those touched by mist; those with the power to bend the gods to their will. Seek you-_

 

“Rasler!” Reks’ voice shatters through what Chaos says and Rasler is pulled back from the strange world of nothingness.

 

***

Rasler’s pale lashes flutters and he blinks blearily up at him. “Reks?”

 

Reks can’t help the grin that comes through, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “You idiot,” he says. “Don’t do that again.”

 

“What happened?” Rasler asks as Reks helps him sit up.

 

“We defeated Chaos… and then there was a bright light that attacked you…. You collapsed,” Reks explains, his grip on the prince’s arm tight. “Do you remember?”

 

Rasler feels a prickling on his left wrist and when he pulls back his sleeve, he finds a dark marking on the inside of his wrist, the glyph of Chaos.

 

“Yes,” Rasler says, standing with sudden vigour. “Chaos has become bound to me.”

 

“That’s good, right?” Reks says, standing as well. He puts a hand on Rasler’s wrist and runs his finger on the new mark. “Is this proof you won?”

 

Rasler’s wrist tingles at the contact, and he closes his eyes and hears Chaos’ deep voice _. Well chosen, scion of Helios. Your partner - the witch’s blood runs thick in his veins._

 

“Yes,” the Nabradian says with a smile, despite the odd words the esper stated regarding Reks. He rests his head against Reks’ shoulder. “He believes you a worthy partner.”  

 

“He better,” Reks says with a shrug though he still grins at the compliment. “I helped defeat him, after all.”

 

“There’s something else,” Rasler says, darting his head around the chamber. “Chaos had told me to seek out another relic hidden by King Helios Sucard Nabradia, the first king of Nabradia.”

 

“I hope it’s not another Esper,” Reks mutters, watching as Rasler examines each of the walls. One obviously catches the Nabradian’s attention. “What are you doing?”

 

Rasler points at a wall. “There,” he says. “There is a door.”

 

“All I see is a wall.”

 

“It is there. That’s where it is hidden,” Rasler says firmly, complete confidence in his choice.

 

Reks sighs but follows along as they walk to the end of the chamber, where a large mosaic depicts Nabradia’s crest. Rasler lifts his left hand and places it on the wall and the mosaic lights up in the same pale light Chaos had been surrounded by.

 

The crest cleaves in half and the two parts of the wall slide away, revealing a javelin like weapon sealed behind it. The weapon floats down into Rasler’s hand, where it fits perfectly.

 

Rasler stares with wide eyes, unable to help the astonished gasp he makes.

 

“What is it?” Reks asks, tilting his head.

 

Rasler turns to face him. “This is the Zodiac Spear,” the prince says, awe still in his voice. “They say Helios, the first king of Nabradia, and King Raithwall’s grandson, had wielded a spear as light as a feather but as strong as platinum. It had been forged from a rare ore called Orichalcum that allowed for such qualities.”

 

“The Zodiac Spear is that weapon,” Rasler finishes, passing the weapon to Reks. “See, feel how light it is.”

 

Reks wraps his hand around the spear and lifts, shocked by its weight. Yet, despite its lightness, there is obvious power that radiates. He passes it back to Rasler, smiling at him. “It is a fine weapon,” he says. “Worthy of you.”

 

Rasler blinks in surprise. “I would have never been able to do this without you.”

 

Reks presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “Yes. But in the end, it was you who said that Chaos was possible to defeat,” he comments, tilting his head for a kiss. “And it was you that the medallions found worthy.”

 

“Do you see Rasler?” Reks continues, smiling at him. “Even the gods know that you are no coward. The fact Nabudis fell is not your fault. No matter how well you led your troops, the explosion would have still happened.”

 

Rasler continues to remain silent, his shoulders tense. He stares down at the spear in his hands, what it means to hold it.

 

“Let go of the guilt that burdens you,” Reks says, wrapping his arms around Rasler. “You are _not_ alone. We can face it together. And though Nabudis may not be physically there, Nabradia still stands. Your country lives in you, in your actions. It lives in the people that still call Nabradia their home.”

 

Rasler finally lifts his eyes to meet Reks’ and Reks is proud to see the heaviness in his eyes is gone.

 

“Do Nabradia proud.”

 

“With you here, I will be able to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine trying to edit 22 pages worth of old writing….. And not cringing. It was hard…. Anyways, thank you again to everyone that read the chapter. I tried to change Rasler’s speech to be more formal. I don’t know if I was completely successful…. Also, I changed the fact that Rasler knew about Lady Galbana (because as a prince, he’s probably met her at least once) This will also have consequences in the future!!! :0
> 
> In order to make sense of the years, use Mt. Bur-Omisace as a sort of signpost. I structured the story so that Reks’ travel there corresponds to the end of the year (in our time, around November or December). So in this story, the main (game) based plot line will go on for more than a year. I think that’s reasonable, considering they are WALKING from one country to another and then WALKING to an ancient site most people haven’t accessed for years.
> 
> As before, I’ve not zero romance in my body so if the Rasler/Reks confession scene seemed weird- that is why. 
> 
> I added Brisin and Khala just to show that Reks has more friends than just Rasler, and Moniq. ;)
> 
> Presti- or whatever his name is: There’s always that one guy who never knows when to not be a dick. You can imagine he disappears or gets kicked out soon enough.
> 
> Please leave a comment :) even if it is just to say that so-and-so is your favourite character!


	4. Chapter 1: A Treasure Greater Than Any Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits! From beginning to end, but pretty minor ones plotwise. I can’t believe how odd I wrote them before!! OTL 
> 
> Thank you again to you, dear readers!! :)

_Mosphoran Highwaste, Year 706 Old Valendian_

 

There is a twitch in his shoulder as Reks groans awake.  The Esper seal pulses with power- Reks is already uncomfortable, as though Exodus should not be bonded to him.

 

“You are well?” Rasler asks, steadying Reks. He manoeuvres them towards a boulder, where Reks can lean on the rock face. It is draining to gain an esper glyph, and Reks had also suffered the most in this battle since they couldn’t use any items for this fight. They had to rely solely on Reks’ healing. Exodus had the strangest ability to neutralize any item; potion had as much effect as water in this fight.

 

“I’m fine,” Reks says with a nod. “But, is it supposed to be like this? This unease I feel.”

 

Rasler tilts his head, thinking through the words. “Chaos settled within me as though he was an old friend,” he replies after a moment. “Perhaps it is because Chaos was a legacy passed down to me by my ancestor. In time, you will learn to coexist with Exodus as well.” 

 

“Maybe,” Reks replies, pressing a hand on his shoulder, not quite confident in Rasler’s words.

 

“That isn’t to say I am completely at peace with Chaos,” Rasler admitted. “He speaks of bringing destruction to my enemies, the likes of which are not capable of any hume alone. And at times, it is tempting- to accept Chaos’ offer, to take the power he promises in return for his freedom…”

 

The Nabradian leans against the stone, pressing Reks to his side. “But we must be vigilant,” he murmurs. “Their wish is for their freedom alone, and their promises are empty as they are grand.”

 

Reks nods. “Yeah, I understand,” he trails off and looks at the view the cliff offers them, trying to ignore the hissing of vengeance that Exodus states with honeyed words.

 

***

 

They stumble down the mountain, Reks still leaning heavily on Rasler.

 

“I swear, I think Chaos is trying to kill you,” Reks says with a shake of his head. His right shoulder blade twitches in response, where the glyph of Exodus is branded on him. “Some treasure…..”

 

Rasler chuckles in response, eyes bright with adrenaline. “Maybe to some extent. My death will force him to return to the mist, where he is imprisoned but with his autonomy, while with me, he must heed my command alone yet gain tantalizing bursts of his former power in return,” the Nabradian explains, pushing the lower part of his headscarf down to peck Reks’ cheek. “However, he also saw potential in you. He felt in you the power to command an esper. He told me, you more than any king deserved the powers of a mist-walker.”

 

“Chaos, that flatterer,” Reks says with a laugh. “I don’t know what he’s planning.”

 

“I believe it may have been loneliness,” Rasler comments lightly. “He desired someone to converse with. The espers, they can only communicate with one another when they are in close proximity.”

 

Reks raises a brow before punching the Nabradian’s shoulder. “All this life risking just so Chaos can have a friend?” he says with a sigh. “My goodness.”

 

Rasler laughs, now that the danger is behind them. What can the fiends in the highwaste do against to two espers?

 

“Do not think like that,” the Nabradian replies, pressing a kiss against Reks’ neck. “True, we did not find gil or treasure, but we did gain a mighty power.”

 

Reks sighs, though he smiles at the affection. “I guess I’ll have to make due with that,” he says. “Exodus may come in handy in the future, even if he gives me the creeps. Come on, let’s get back to civilization- I can’t wait to relax for a few days.”

 

He ignores Exodus’ booming voice, boisterous in tone, and oddly paternal, as if a grandfather is speaking.

 

***

 

“How was your adventure?” Luccio asks as they sell some of the loot they got while travelling up to the peak. Reks weighs the pouch of gil in his hand. Wasn’t a total loss, he supposes.

 

“We’re alive, so I’d count it a success,” Reks answers with a shrug. “But we’re planning on going back to Rabanastre for a bit. Rest up, pick up some marks.”

 

The merchant laughs sharply. “Good luck with that,” he says, rubbing his chin. “The Archadians have blocked off the borders from Nalbina on.”

 

“Whatever for?” Rasler asks, tapping the Zodiac spear on his leg. He looks through Luccio’s wares- only basic items but staples for any good adventurer.

 

“You haven’t heard? Wait, of course you haven’t heard,” Luccio says, with a laugh. “You two have been up on a cliff for the last ten days!”

 

“Well?” Rasler says.

 

“Vayne Solidor is coming to Rabanastre,” the merchant says and Reks tenses, his eyes darting to the caravaner. Luccio doesn’t notice and continues with a shrug. “I hear he’s going to be the new consul of Dalmasca. The Imperials have blocked off the city for the last week preparing for the celebration. At least they’ll be done after today.”

 

“Why today?” Rasler asks as Reks is still too numb to make any comment.

 

“Last day of ceremonies. He’s coming for his speech,” Luccio answers. “And I think they’re holding a fete in his honour today? Something like that. But after today, the festivities will be over and Rabanastre will be open again. Thank the gods. Hopefully, we’ll get some more travellers here. Business has been tough the last few days.”

 

Rasler nods and leads Reks away from the merchant, saying their goodbyes for his partner. Reks breathes sharply, grey eyes darting.

 

“We need to get there,” Reks whispers to Rasler as they walk away from the merchant, pocketing the gil they’ve made. “I… I need see what’s happening.”

 

“How?” Rasler asks, crossing his arms. “You heard Luccio.”

 

Reks bites his lips in thought before snapping his fingers. “He said they’re guarding the borders,” Reks says with a smile. “They aren’t guarding the gate crystals.”

 

Rasler turns to see the orange hued crystal and smiles. “I guess they’re assuming people won’t be using it? Makes sense- only us hunters have access to them,” the Nabradian says with a laugh. He rummages his satchel and pulls out a smaller, but matching hued stone. “Fortunately for us, I always pack some teleportation stones with me.”

 

Reks squeezes the Nabradian’s hand before leading them to the Teleportation crystal. “One good thing about you is that you’re always prepared.”

 

“Is that all I’m good for?” Rasler replies with mock outrage.

 

Reks raises a brow and quirks his lips. “You’re also pretty good eye candy.”

 

***

 

The city gates are blocked by Imperials, but Reks bribes them with a bottle of Medovukha that he got from the Garif in Jahara before coming to Rabanastre. Its potent flavour and relative rarity causes it to be a commodity amongst Imperials. It is a good thing they are so close with Suhanu, who makes the best Medovukha in the village; they never would have gotten a bottle otherwise.  

 

And if Reks slipped some mild irritant into the drink, well, how are the Imperials supposed to tell?

 

***

“So, tell me your plan,” Rasler asks, leaning against their kitchen counter. “What do you propose we do?”

 

Reks sighs from the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “…I don’t know,” he mutters. “But Vayne Solidor _will_ pay. And if Lady Galbana is here- all the more better.”

                                                         

“If you don’t have anything, may I suggest that we go see the man’s speech?” Rasler offers as an idea. “If we leave now, we can make it in time. It’s set to start with the third afternoon bells, if I recall correctly.”

 

Reks gazes blankly at Rasler. “Why would I want to go see his speech?” he says with bewilderment.

 

Rasler shrugs. “It is best to know the steps our enemy will take,” he explains. “There is no better way to learn his thoughts than to hear his words. We are a disadvantage because Vayne Solidor is difficult to face in person.”

 

Reks sits up from the bed, pushing down the errant strands of silver hair that fell out of place. “You’re right,” he says, knowing Rasler speaks true. He barely knows anything of the Solidor, outside of rumours and the very few times they’ve met. “We might as well take a look. Even if seeing him makes me sick.”

 

They make their way to the central plaza, where a grand stage has been set up for the new consul. It’s drawn a huge crowd, though there is nothing but murmurs of discontent from the people. Reks pushes his way to the front with single-minded determination, wanting to study Vayne Solidor as much as he can. Rasler trails behind him as his supporting shadow, casting a dark glare at anyone who even makes a peep of complaint.

 

Vayne Solidor enters the scene with as much fanfare expected of a prince of Archadia, riding upon a great monster of a machine, out of place in Rabanastre where chocobo drawn transports reign supreme. Reks cannot suppress a huff, rolling his eyes at the show.

 

“What an idiot,” he whispers to Rasler, who watches Vayne’s entrance with equal amusement.

 

“He certainly isn’t endearing himself to the common man,” Rasler replies, watching the crowd’s disapproval.

 

However, that’s when things change. When Vayne opens his mouth and liquid gold pours from his lips. He is bold in his acceptance of the people’s hatred, is open to the criticism they throw at his face, the faceless masses that hurl insults. Soon, their hatred is changed to begrudging respect for the Solidor, at his bravado. It makes Reks ill at how easily the citizens eat out of Vayne’s hands- the man has them moving like puppets at his performance.

 

“What bullshit is this?” Reks hisses, leaning close to Rasler’s ear to whisper it. Rasler cannot do anything but shrug his shoulders as he watches with narrowed eyes. The crowd actually  _claps_ as Vayne Solidor finishes his speech.

 

Rasler sighs, rubbing his temples with his hand. “Come on Reks, let us just leave,” he says, pulling the other hunter’s arm.

 

Reks shakes his head, glaring at the dark haired Archadian. “I need to learn as much as I can,” he mutters. “Even if this is killing me. Every action, every word he speaks, anything that can get me an edge against him, I need to see it.”

 

Rasler sighs but sits silently beside Reks as the crowd disperses around them, the ceremony completed. Vayne Solidor steps down from his platform, triumphant in his performance, to talk to a blue-skinned Bangaa, smiling amicably despite Archadia’s long history of prejudice against non-humes.

 

“Is that Migelo?” Reks asks, narrowing his eyes as he watches the old Bangaa bow. “What’s he doing there?”

 

“He must be the provisioner for tonight’s festivities,” Rasler replies, leaning forward to glance at the Bangaa. “He prepared for the wedding two years ago as well.”

 

Reks clicks his tongue, crossing his arms tightly. “Why would he do that?” he mutters. “It’s not like the Bangaa’s hurting for gil.”

 

Rasler shrugs giving him a light shove. “Reks,” he says. “I’m sure he’s not doing it because he has any desire to. Migelo cannot refuse when the Imperials order him.”

 

“I  _know_ that,” Reks snaps though his anger deflates at Rasler’s chiding. “But still, I can’t believe Migelo’s bowing down to him.”

 

“There is nothing else to learn from this event,” Rasler says at last, turning Reks away from the scene. “Let’s leave this place.”  

 

Reks glares at the Archadian one last time before following Rasler out of the Palace courtyard, seething with barely concealed fury.

 

***

 

Rasler drags Reks to the Sandsea after the ceremony. They haven’t eaten since they left the Garif and Reks’ stormy mood may be appeased with some food. As usual, the pub is bursting with people, though the barmaid ensures that they get a table in their preferred corner location.

 

Their food arrives without much fanfare, and they dig into their meal with gusto. Reks raises a brow at Rasler’s odd way of eating, covering his lower face as he chews the food. Long used the Nabradian’s quirk, Reks simply smirks at Rasler before going back to his own meal.

 

“Gentlemen,” Tomaj says, sauntering over to them with a wave. “I’m glad I caught you. I have a real need for some good hunters right now.”

 

Reks rolls his eyes as Rasler pulls his scarf up at the intrusion. Like Tomaj would be able to tell.

 

“We could use a chance to stretch our legs. Reks is in a mood and he needs to release some stress,” the Nabradian says, ignorant of Reks’ glare. “But with the blockade, isn’t exiting Rabanastre impossible?”

 

“Ah, my naïve Nabradian friend,” Tomaj tsks with an air of wisdom.  “You could if it had something to do with the fete itself.”

 

“What do you mean?” Reks asks, sipping his water. It is only mid-afternoon; it’d be ridiculous to indulge in a drink this time of day. But a part of him regrets not getting himself something to quell the anger that pulses through his veins.

 

Tomaj shakes his head. “There’s this creature, a complete bother to the caravaners,” the bar owner explains. “Migelo managed to borrow some provisions from me but still, there are shortages all around because of it. You’d be able to use the fete as an excuse to get out and kill the thing. I’m even paying for the mark out of my own pockets!”

 

Tomaj pulls out the poster, depicting a mandrake-like creature. “It’s that,” he says. “Small but monstrous.”

 

Reks’ eyes flickers down to the paper. “Looks like a Nightshade,” he comments lightly, not really interested in the hunt. His mind is more focused on Vayne Solidor; if he’s here then Lady Galbana must be as well. Reks had gone back to Archades two more times after their meeting with Roh’Kenmu, and each time, he was unable to secure the sandalwood chop needed to enter Tsenoble. If he could just get into the palace, to the fete, he could talk to her. He’d only have to meet Lady Galbana once, just to explain his situation, and she’d help him, wouldn’t she? Every time he’s been in Archades, all people seem to talk about was how she had brought good back into House Solidor, and if she could make those heartless bastards see reason, she must be kind. Her fame as a benevolent patron has spread far past the empire… And-

 

Tomaj snapping his fingers in front of his face brings Reks back. “What?” he says with a frown, turning to the barkeep.

 

Tomaj stares down at him, raising his brows. “I said, that yes, this is a nightshade and that it probably made its way over from the Feywood, a most horrid place indeed,” he answers with a sigh, shaking his head. “It’s dangerous to the native fauna and to the food prices, high as they already are. You should go and kill it.”

 

“Why don’t you?” Reks replies, tilting his head. He needs to find a way into the palace and Tomaj is wasting his time! He’d probably need to convince Rasler, and who knows how long that would take? Time is of the essence.

 

Tomaj opens his hands out, gesturing to the Sandsea. “And who would take care of this if I left?” he says with a dramatic sigh.

 

“I’ll take that mark,” Rasler says before Reks can refuse. “I’m sure the fete will go on without me.”

 

“Wait-” Reks tries to cut in, only to be drowned out by Tomaj’s loud voice.

 

“Grand!” Tomaj says, shaking hands with Rasler. “It’s in the Estersands, right by the city entrance, near the cliff area. You know where I’m talking about?”

 

“The Stepping?” Rasler replies, glancing down at the mark notice.

 

“That’s right.”

 

Tomaj leaves with wave, as another patron asks for the hume. Reks stares blankly at Rasler as the Nabradian raises his brows.

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Rasler asks as he catches Reks’ stare.

 

Reks wants to yell but shrugs his shoulders instead. “I’m still tired from Exodus,” he lies. “Even if it’s an easy hunt, which that looks like it’ll be, I just wanted to rest today.”

 

If Reks plays his cards right, he might kill two birds with one stone; if Rasler leaves alone for this hunt, Reks won’t have to try and convince him to sneak into the palace with him and he’ll have the rest of the day to look for a way in. Not that he doesn’t trust Rasler but the Nabradian is not a fan of subterfuge, of illicit plots.

 

Rasler nods slowly, eyebrows furrowed tightly. “I forgot all about the esper,” he says with a sigh. Rasler shakes the hunt with Rouge Tomato. “I’m sorry, Reks. Binding with an esper, I’ve forgotten how draining it was. I’ll go by myself. It  _does_  look weak compared to anything we’ve hunted in awhile, and it is only level 1.”

 

“Thanks,” Reks replies, ignoring the jolt of guilt for his lie.

 

***

 

Rasler shoulders his satchel before giving Reks a kiss. “I’ll be back soon,” the Nabradian says with a wave. “Don’t do anything to get yourself in trouble, ok?”

 

Reks nods with a smile and lies down on the bed, pulling the covers over his head. He waits silently for 20 minutes after he hears the door shut, to ensure that he won’t run into Rasler accidently.

 

When he is sure that the Nabradian has left Rabanastre, he pens a short message, written in a scrawl on a napkin, and slips out of their house.

 

“Sorry Rasler,” he whispers before making his way to Old Dalan’s house, knowing that he’s breaking his promise to the Nabradian already.

 

***

 

Old Dalan has been a source of mystery for all of Rabanastre. He’s been a permanent pillar in Lowtown long before the annexation of Dalmasca, and has more tales than truths to tell. He doesn’t resemble the natives of Dalmasca and there are whispers of his colourful past as a spymaster for the Rozzarians, which Reks cannot verify as truth or fiction.

 

Though Raminas may have been the King of Dalmasca, in Lowtown, Old Dalan is supreme.

 

Reks doesn’t particularly believe the rumours but he knows not to trust the old man either. He has always hated interacting with old Dalan; his ancient eyes seem to delve into the deepest part of his mind, drawing out all the hidden secrets he wants to hide. However, if anyone knows the way into the palace, it is Old Dalan. So with a sigh, he makes his way to the Southern part of low town, armed with only his favoured sword.

 

When he slips into the old hume’s home, door always open for anyone in need of advice, there are children clumped in the front, listening with wide eyes as Dalan finishes his latest fable. After the occupation, Old Dalan’s stories have become one of the only things orphans could partake in to just enjoy being kids.

 

Old Dalan trails off with his ending, taking a long drag of his pipe as the children stand to leave. His thick white eyebrows rise as they catch sight of Reks. The children run off with a wave of their hands as Dalan promises them a new story tomorrow, rushing past Reks with a rustle of cloth. When they are alone, Old Dalan pets his giza rabbit and gives Reks a sharp look.

 

“So, the mad soldier wishes for my assistance?” he says with a cackle, the laugh smoke-filled and raspy. “What an honour.”

 

Reks narrows his eyes but holds his tongue. “I’m sure you of all people have heard of my miserly ways,” Reks replies, twitching his lips up into a mockery of a smile. “I thought the fete would be a good time for me to  _partake_. I’m sure most of the guards will be too busy guarding the good consul to even worry about a few trinkets here or there.”

  

The old man laughs once more, shaking his head. His multitude of earrings clink lightly as it sways back and forth. “I wonder if that is all you wish to do,” Old Dalan comments, his eyes bright with glee. “So, the hunter wishes to hunt for gold instead of monsters…  Most peculiar.”

 

Old Dalan pulls out a darkened stone from a pocket of his voluminous robes. “Wise I may not be, but well-informed I am,” he says tossing the rock at Reks, who catches it with a shrug. “There is a particularly interesting rumour I’ve come across. A secret passageway into the palace vaults, a door, and a magicked stone that opens the way.”

 

Reks snorts with derision. “I need a map, not a fairytale,” he says with a cold stare. “I’ve no time to chase stories, old man.”

 

Dalan shakes his head, looking at Reks with a smirk. “Yet, fairytales are stories born from truths,” the man says. “The crescent stone, still and dead in your hands, will lead you to the palace vaults once you get inside. But only if you hold its brethren, the sunstone. Together, they will light your way in darkness.”

 

Reks sighs but nods nonetheless. “This is great and all, but I need to get into the palace before I can find the vaults, you know?”

 

Old Dalan simply laughs once more. “Come back with the sunstone. Show me your determination, boy. Then and only then I will tell you.”

 

“How do you propose I leave the city?” Reks asks, frowning. “Unless you’ve forgotten, Rabanastre is in a blockade.”

 

Old Dalan has the gall to reply with a smile. “That is part of the challenge, young Reks.”

 

Reks leaves the home with a snarl, annoyed at the old man for the stupid tasks he’s put him up against. All Reks wants is an entry into the palace, is that so much to ask for?!

 

How to leave the city? Rasler only managed to get out because he had the excuse of gaining foodstuff for the fete. Reks ponders a way to escape as he packs lightly for a trip to the nomad village in Giza.

 

The Lowtown access to the Southern gate is unguarded. For one, many of the imperials don’t know about it, and assume it is broken as the rest of the access ways. The other, no one wants to station themselves near Lowtown. Many Imperials enter to chase after a thief only to disappear forever; the work of the Resistance, no doubt.

 

And… the Lowtown entrance malfunctions regularly, opening without any prompting from time to time. Reks smile and nods to himself, fiddling with a slender dagger.

 

It’s always a good plan when he can annoy some Imperials along the way.

 

***

 

Reks bites back a laugh as he watches the two Imperials guarding the South gate jump in surprise as the Lowtown entrance opens. He needs to stay silent; vanish makes him invisible, but nothing else.

 

“We should just jam that gate, what with it opening up all the time,” one of the soldiers mutters.

 

The other guard snorts, stomping over to where Reks stands, metal armour clanking with each step. The hunter presses his lips together and stops his breathing before slipping past the guard and running towards Giza Plains.

 

“Ain’t nothing there,” the other one replies. “This gate will be the end of us, it will…”

 

The sound of gil clinking is lost amongst the mutterings of the crowds that have been denied entry to the city, which is good because that Imperial had a particularly full pouch.

 

***

 

“Reks, you’re early! You don’t leave for another month or two, right?” Masyua says when Reks meanders into the Nomad village, a flask of water on his lips. Masyua is the woman in charge of trading Sunstones as well as distributing production amongst the village children. She wears a headdress that covers her neck against the strong desert rays and her skin has a special ointment that prevents burns rubbed on it. He should remember to buy some ointment from her as well before he leaves. Reks is fine but Rasler burns easily in the sun.

 

Reks nods. “Not for awhile. But I need a sunstone for something else,” he replies, swinging the ill-gotten gil pouch. “I’ll pay extra since I’m asking on such short notice. I got a little  _bonus_ on my last hunt.”

 

 Masyua laughs, tilting her head back. “Oh, please. I’m sure some Imperial is crying over his lost gil as we speak,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’d like to help, but unfortunately, we’re out of them at the moment. Jinn, Mir and Fatim left to make sunstones for our new shipment.”

 

“They aren’t back yet?” Reks asks, crossing his arms. “It’s already past noon.”

 

“They packed their lunches when they left,” Masyua replies. “The children are used to the work, not soft like you city folks. They should be in the Southern portion of the Giza plains, finishing the last of the sunstones. I’ll give you a discount if you help them carry the sunstones back.”  

 

“I can do that,” Reks says, an easy enough job. “I’ll see you, Masyua.”

 

Reks leaves her to wander the village, saying hello to Elder Brunoa and trying to gauge where the children would be at this time of day. The Giza plain is vast, and even just searching the Southern portion could take hours, so he must prioritize which areas to look first. At the Elder’s advice, he goes to search for the other village children who don’t have work today; the village rotates the sunstone making duty amongst the kids, and if anyone would know their favoured locations, it will be them.

 

“Penelo?” Reks says as he walks towards the gaggle of children. Penelo is crouched next to the kids, waving her hands as she murmurs a story to them. The young Dalmascan stands and tilts her head towards Reks, just noticing his arrival.

 

“Reks? What are you doing here?” Penelo asks, shifting her weight back and forth.

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Reks replies with a smile. “Shouldn’t you be off helping Migelo at the fete?”

 

“He has enough help as it is. I’m free for the whole day,” Penelo replies. “What about you, Reks?”

 

“Need some sunstones,” he replies with a shrug. “I need to find Jinn or Mir or Fatim and help them carry some back.”

 

“I’ll join you,” Penelo says, stretching her arms above her head. “We haven’t had a chance to hang out recently.”

 

***

 

“How’d you get out of the city?” Reks asks once they are out searching the plains. He taps his sword and looks around the steppe leisurely. The creatures here are relatively weak, so he doesn’t have to be on guard as stringently. “I mean, I had to use several underhanded ways to get out.”

 

Penelo shrugs, her pale braids bouncing with the motion. “Just need to drop Migelo’s name and they let me leave the city,” she says with a laugh. “I still had a transport slip from a month ago and apparently that was enough paperwork for them.”

 

“I wonder how some of them even got their jobs,” he adds with a chuckle. “Not like they particularly care.”

 

She nods along, tilting her head to the sky. “You know, it’s strange,” she mumbles, fiddling with her dagger. “Before, we’d never need something like transport papers just for a quick visit to the Nomad village. Dalmasca isn’t just Rabanastre, but it’s like the Imperials don’t understand that. So much has changed in two years, you know? It’s like it’s not even Rabanastre anymore.”

 

“Dalmasca will endure,” Reks replies, scanning the horizon for any sign of the children. “As it has for centuries. People are incredibly resilient, you know. We’ll get out of this.”

 

 _The foolish hope of humes. To think themselves mighty._ Exodus huffs in his mind.

 

‘Be quiet, old man,’ Reks replies sharply, rolling his eyes at the Esper’s affronted rumble.

 

Penelo nods and they make the rest of the trek to the crystal glade in comfortable silence.

 

***

 

“What happened to you?!” Penelo bursts out when they see the three children huddled around the blue protective crystal.

 

“It’s Jinn!” Fatim says, sitting on the small crate of sunstones. “He hurt his ankle!”

 

“Yeah!” Mir shouts in agreement. “We were just finishing up when Jinn got hurt!”

 

Penelo crosses her arms in front of her, giving the children a stern look. Reks stifles a laugh behind his hand; Penelo is the last person they want to mess with, with her having to take care of the Lowtown orphans most of the time. She can sense trouble a mile away.

 

“What  _really_ happened?” she asks, leaving no room for argument.

 

The three children look around biting their lips. Finally, Jinn laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

 

“Well, you know… We were done a little early…” Jinn stammers out, turning to Fatim for support. “And, since we were done, we thought we could explore a bit.”

 

Jinn elbows Fatim who blubbers for a moment before adding, “So, we were looking around and we got a little too close to the werewolves!”

 

Penelo raises her brows. “So you were playing chicken,” she hisses before leaning down to glare at the children. “What would have happened if you got seriously hurt?! What would poor Masyua do without you!”

 

The children look abashed, staring down on the dusty ground. “Sorry Penelo,” they say in unison, brows furrowed.

 

Reks taps Penelo on her shoulder and leans to her ear. “Don’t be too harsh on them,” he whispers with humour in his voice. “You and I both know Masyua is going to tan their hides soon enough.”

 

***

 

Masyua shakes her head and glares down at the children as they enter the village; Reks has to piggyback Jinn while Penelo, Fatim and Mir carry the sunstones. Reks almost pities the kids as Masyua gives them sharp words about their foolishness. The sunstone merchant pauses her yelling only once to give Penelo and him a grateful smile and to pass a sunstone to Reks.

 

As they leave, Reks takes a moment to look back and smiles when he sees Masyua hug the three children tightly.

 

***

 

This time it is relatively easy to get back into the city. They manage to get everyone waiting at the Southern gate in with them as Penelo waves her  _paperwork_  at the bewildered guards’ faces.

 

“We should do that again,” Penelo says once they’ve returned to the city proper. “I had a good time. We haven’t really gotten a chance to do something together recently.”

 

Reks nods. “I enjoyed our little adventure too,” he replies. “And if there is anything you need help with, tell me. I know you go out of your way to take care of the other orphan… I can’t be around to help you, but if there is anything you need, tell me. Take care Penelo.”

 

“Say hi to Raze for me!” Penelo calls out with a smile, jogging off to the merchant area, back to Migelo’s shop.

 

Reks stares down at the sunstone, turning it this way and that. “Now… back to Old Dalan,” he says to himself, wondering if the old fool will help him now.

 

***

_Rabanastre East Gate,_   _Year 706 Old Valendian_

 

Rasler grumbles to himself, swinging the sack that holds the Rouge Tomato’s head. The hunt itself was beyond easy, it died with a single stroke of his spear, but the bastard kept fleeing, making the Nabradian chase after it for hours. Rasler isn’t too annoyed however, as he found a small prize for his endeavour. In his pocket, he carries Galbana Lilies, Reks’ favourite flowers. He had been lucky to see them, just moments after the hunt; the lilies are a rare find in the Estersands.

 

“This is ridiculous,” he hisses as he sees the crowd that surrounds the gates and hears the Imperials’ booming voice shouting orders to get back.

 

Rasler shoves himself to the front, crossing his arms in front of him as he faces the Imperial.

 

“What’s going on here?” he demands. “The celebration is over already. You must allow us entry.”

 

“No one gets in or out until the  _fete_  is over,” the Imperial sneers back. “Get the sand out of your ears, peasant.”

 

 _Destroy him, son of Nabradia_. Chaos advises.  _How dare he speak to a king this way? Call my power and destroy him._

 

‘I’m King to no one,’ Rasler answers, hands clenching to a fist. ‘It won’t be that easy for you to come out and play.’

 

Rasler narrows his eyes at the Imperial. “I completed the hunt on the orders of the fete’s provisionary.”

 

“He can wait til tomorrow to hear the good news,” the other Imperial comments before saying with finality, “No one gets in or out.”

 

The Nabradian glares before sighing and walking leisurely to the Chocobo stands. He will not allow the Imperials see how angry he is; that would be giving them a victory. Instead, he smiles at the gurdy and rents a chocobo.

 

If he is stranded out of the city for the night, he might as well visit Dantro at the outpost and get some information for Reks.

 

***

 

Reks drops the sunstone and crescent stone into the old man’s hand, giving him an expectant look. “Well? I’ve brought you the stone,” he says. “How do I get in?”

 

Old Dalan’s smoky laughter fills the room. “Not one to mince words, are you?” he says before pressing the two stones together. The light of the sunstone passes onto the crescent stone, making both glow faintly. He passes the stones back to Reks. “First, you go to storehouse five. Two doors she has. The left will lead you to the Garamsythe Waterway. The waterway leads to a staircase. Those stairs to the palace cellars.”

 

“Good, thanks,” Reks says, getting ready to leave when Old Dalan’s hand shoots up to stop him.

 

“Don’t go counting your gil  _just yet_ ,” Dalan advises with a laugh. “The crescent stone has powerful magicks that will lead you to the secret passage but it needs to find the signet. Listen carefully, for these words are important. The signet yearns for sunstone’s strength to light the clouded way.”

 

When Reks doesn’t say anything, the old man says with a wink, “I could explain what it means but I think you know, yes?”

 

Reks shrugs. “I think I got it,” he says with confidence, uncaring whether he learns the secrets of the riddle. It doesn’t matter if he can get into the treasury or not; that is not his goal anyways.

 

***

 

Reks leaves at sunset, two hours before the fete is set to start. The waterway’s monsters are troublesome but are not particularly memorable and soon he stands before the staircase, heart pounding.

 

If all goes well, he’ll have Vaan back by the morrow.

 

United at last.

 

***

 

_Western Courtyard, Dalmasca Royal Palace, Year 706 Old Valendian_

 

The courtyard is silent except for the soft whirr of Fran’s hover bike, stolen and refurbished from an Imperial model. Balthier jumps as the bike slows and lands on the marble tiles in a crouch, his feet silent against the stone tiles. Behind him, the sky pirate hears his partner turning the cloaking device on the bike and shoving it in a discreet nook of the palace.

 

“Our destination?” Fran asks, raising a pale brow. The viera’s ears twitch minutely as she takes in the surroundings. “The guards are yet far but this is more than we are accustomed to.”

 

Balthier smirks, giving his partner a wink. “Well, of course,” he says. “We are going to steal from the consul himself after all. A prize befitting the leading man.”

 

“You bite more than you can chew,” Fran comments as Balthier leads them deeper into the palace. “The hardheadedness of humes.”

 

Balthier simply smiles again. “Fran please, it’s worth the risk,” he says, his face momentarily losing its mask of nonchalance and revealing the determination that darkens his eyes. “This treasure is greater than any I’ve ever attempted before.”

 

Fran’s face does not change, though her eyes soften. “Then, faster we should go. The guards come.”

 

***

 

‘Sometimes it is a blessing to have a pretty face,’ Reks can’t help but think as he carries a tray of Bhujerban madhu, the drink poured in sparkling crystals. When he had arrived, it turned out that the workers would only be setting up and cleaning after the fete was over, remaining hidden during the actual party. Luckily for Reks, one of the servers had gotten ill last minute and needed someone to replace her; Reks charmed the head of staff with soft words and gentle coaxing.

 

It made his skin crawl, the words he said.

 

All the servers hide their faces behind domino masks, but Reks also makes sure to avoid Vayne Solidor and the Judge, working around the crowds that buffer between him and the consul. Everything will be over if the bastard recognizes him.

 

He meanders through the crowds, trying to catch a glimpse or even a chirp of Lady Galbana from the other nobles. The problem is that he’s never even caught a glimpse of the mysterious woman, not even in a portrait- he has no actual idea of what she looks like, other than the golden hair she is said to have. There is no light hair amongst the party goers, even when he risks his neck and chances a glance in Vayne’s general direction. The party consists only of Archadians, nary a Dalmascan in sight, even though the party is in Rabanastre.

 

A partygoer, a young woman in a glaringly bright green dress, bumps into Reks, almost upturning his tray of drinks. Luckily his coordination is fast enough that he saves the crystals of madhu.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks, even though all he wants to do is upturn the entire tray on the woman’s face.

 

“Oh yes,” she says. “How very polite of you. How about I give you a reward for your efforts?”

 

Reks slips from her claw-like grasp, bowing. “Your thanks was more than enough,” he replies.

 

The woman frowns, before looking daintily up at him. Why won’t she leave? “What a shame,” she titters as she takes a glass from his tray. She looks coquettishly at him, eyes hooded and her fan moving obnoxiously quickly.

 

Reks smiles at her, though he makes sure to keep her at arm’s length. “Whatever do you mean, my lady?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

 

“That Lady Galbana was unable to attend,” she says with a sigh. “I would beg her aid to  _charm_  a handsome young Dalmascan I’ve met. My usual antics seem to be failing.”

 

“She’s not here?” he blurts out, unable to control his shock.  “But, does not Lord Solidor-” oh, it pains him to refer to Vayne Solidor that way. “Have her accompany him wherever he goes?”

 

 She smiles triumphantly, happy to share her knowledge. She grabs Reks by the wrist, trapping him. “She was unwell for the trip,” she says with inconspicuous whisper. It’s like she is playing a game of spies and Reks wonders if all the nobles in Archades act this way.

 

“I see…” he says before bowing, looking at his tray and making haste his escape. “I must leave you now, I am being called by my supervisor.”

 

Reks doesn’t give the woman a chance to catch him as he casts vanish on himself and flees from the banquet hall.

 

With the luck he’s had so far, Reks shouldn’t have even gotten his hopes up, but he had done so again, with devastating results. Not  _here_. Of all the times to get ill, why  _this time_?! For heaven’s sake, was Lady Galbana somehow avoiding Reks?!

 

Reks sighs and walks silently along the massive halls until he finds the exit to the outer towers. He probably should leave now before he gets arrested, since the reason he came here in the first place isn’t even present. The wall walk will give him a good view of the courtyard below and help him find an alternate way into the waterways. What a waste of time this was. Reks might as well have looked for that treasure Dalan was speaking of.

 

When he steps outside though, Reks is shocked to hear the sounds of battle and not an Imperial in sight in the allure.

 

“What?” he mutters, running to the parapet to catch sight of the source of battle. Reks groans when he sees the scene. “The Resistance… Vossler just couldn’t wait, could he?”  

 

The Dalmascan Resistance is holding up against the Imperials but Reks wouldn’t say they are doing well. They are outnumbered three to one and the differences between the Imperial’s and their equipment are too great. It becomes even worse when fireballs begin to rain down on the courtyard, devastating the Resistence members. Reks looks up to see the source, seeing a midsized airship flying past the palace. 

 

“Shit, Gria!” Reks hisses when he catches sight of his former comrade, holding his bleeding shoulder as he defends against an Imperial. “Damn! You stupid fool.”

 

Reks jumps off the parapet and casts float on himself to minimize the damage to his legs when he lands. He casts a quick curaga spell on Gria and several other members of the Resistance, the ones he doesn’t hate. He also makes sure to keep Vanish on himself, sliding past the fighters without notice. He has no plans of being connected to the resistance or Captain Azelas, not if he can help it. Reks runs through the courtyard, curing who he can and blasting the Imperials with firage spells as he makes his way to the grate. He dare not cast anything that can draw attention to himself, firage at the very least can be mistaken for the fireballs that continue to rain down. The grate is on the edge of the garden, meant to keep the grounds from getting overwatered and flooded during the rains. It is not a long distance, but it felt as though Reks had been running for hours. Reks slides inside just as his vanish wears off and he sighs with relief at not being caught.

 

 _You dare flee?! Go fight, you coward!_ The Judge-Sal bellows.  _Use my might to bring justice against your enemy!_

‘You just want to get out!’ Reks grumbles while checking himself for any injuries. He needs to move quickly, in order to not get caught in the crossfire. He rips off the domino mask and re-dons the gauntlets he had been hiding in his pockets.

 

It is just when he is about to set out that a mighty rumble crashes over head and Reks barely jumps out of the way as a hoverbike crashes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one was easier edit because there was very minimal editing plotwise.
> 
> Thanks for reading
> 
> As always, comments are loved and replied to :)


	5. Chapter 2- The Goddess’ Magicite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow! I can believe FFXII Zodiac age has finally come out!!! :’D I’m broke as hell right now, but one day in the future…. I can’t wait to see Basch’s chest-kerchief in all its multi-colour tea towel glory!!
> 
> As usual. Thank you for your comments :) I had this on the backburner for awhile but the last little bit was being a pain. Also, I moved again so that was exhausting….
> 
> Presenting Chapter 2 with MOOORRREEE Foreshadowing ;) ;)

_Garamsythe Waterway, Year 706 Old Valendian_

 

Reks coughs as the dust from the shattered stone flies in the air. A hoverbike skids across to the adjacent wall, puttering smoke. Its last moments spent sputtering oil and noxious gas. For a moment, Reks fears that the person that fell is an Imperial, judging by the Archadian class hover but their costume doesn’t point to Imperial soldiers. A beautiful Viera with white hair cascading down to her knees, and a hume male in a gold threaded vest, hardly the garbs of soldiers.

 

“Are you insane?” he growls, glaring at the viera and her hume partner. “How could you just crash into the sewers like that?!”

 

The man shrugs, fiddling with his cufflinks- typical Archadian idiocy, Reks wants to hiss. “Wasn’t really our choice, now was it Fran?”

 

The viera crouches next to the hover, a frown marring her face. “What happened?” she says, glancing down at the bike. “Our hover didn’t just drop. It disappeared.”

 

“Forget it; even if we could fly, the Ifrit’s playing with fire and I’d rather not get burned,” the man comments with a tilt of his head before facing Reks, raising his brows. “And who might you be? A member of the insurgence?”

 

Reks sneers. “They prefer being called the Resistance. Also, of course not- as if I’d associate with those fools,” he mutters. “Who are you two? Bandits looking for an easy steal?”

 

“I’m the leading man, of course,” the Archadian says with a flourish, ignoring the jibe.

 

Reks narrows his eyes, unamused. “I see,” he says with a roll of his eyes before nodding to the viera. “So who’s that, the leading lady?”

 

“No,” the viera says, her white hair almost glowing against the dark backdrop of the sewers. “In this tale, I play the deuteragonist.”

 

What are they? Some sort of acting troupe? What frustrating bunch of people. Reks seriously considers just ignoring them and heading off on his own.

 

“Ok… Just…” Reks mutters, shaking his head at the duo. “Could I just get your names? Without the titles? Keep it simple for the love of the goddess.”

 

“You should present yourself before asking for another’s,” the viera states flatly, her long fingernails tapping on the dark skin of her arms.

 

Reks closes his eyes and pinches his nose. These people… “I am Reks. A hunter from Rabanastre,” he says after taking several calming breaths. “No connection to the overly grandiose Resistance of Low town.”

 

“I am the sky pirate Balthier,” he says with a tilt of his head. “Frankly speaking, I’m insulted that you haven’t heard of the leading man. This is my partner, Fran.”

 

Fran nods. “Our choices are few. It seems our paths are the same,” she says, looking across the sewer passages. “It’d be best to ally ourselves for now.”

 

Balthier sighs, giving Reks a calculating stare. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers now can they? What say you?” the Archadian asks with a raise of his brows. “Shall we make an alliance?”

 

“Not like I have much of a choice, there’s two of you and one of me,” Reks mutters before glaring at Balthier. “I hope you haven’t stolen something that’ll land me in prison.”

 

“Nothing of the sort,” Balthier says with smirk. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

 

Reks, the only one with experience traversing the sewers, takes the lead, followed close by Balthier and Fran. They are a dynamic duo, efficient in their battles, and Reks is pleasantly surprised at how well they work together. If Rasler was here too, the way back to lowtown would be a breeze. Exodus, at times, points the way, whispering the path to safety, though Reks cannot completely trust the esper’s words.

 

They round the bend, about halfway in their trek, when Reks sees the corpses of several Resistance members. Threw their lives for nothing, Reks wants to say. Balthier shakes his head at the scene while Fran looks silently on. Though Reks doesn’t see anyone he recognizes, he still offers a silent prayer for the fallen.

 

“Insurgents,” Balthier says with a sigh. “Probably thought to take advantage of the lax watch while the fete was on. To feed the good consul a length of steel for his supper.”

 

When neither Reks nor Fran comment, Balthier continues with twitch of his lips. “Clever. He used himself as bait to draw them near then sent in the air brigade.”

 

“So, the fete- it wasn’t about him becoming the consul at all,” Reks mutters. No wonder she didn’t show up…As if Vayne Solidor would risk Lady Galbana’s life; his precious  _golden bird_ _._

 

“No, just a fine  _bloody_ banquet,” Balthier replies. “I daresay I’ve soiled my cuffs… If a dungeon’s waiting for us at the end of the night, it’d be best to have a change of wardrobe.”

 

“There won’t be- no dungeons for me. And if everything goes right, no dungeons for you,” Reks says sharply. “We just have to move quicker. If the Resistance has fled this far into the sewers, anyone caught would also be implicated.”

 

“We should make haste,” Fran comments as she pushes back her hair. “Instead of standing idle.”

 

***

 

They are making good headway, avoiding as much fighting as possible when Reks hears the distasteful accent of Archadian vulgarity and the clanging of swords. He finds the source of the sounds high above them, on the upper pathways of the sewers. The Imperials have surrounded a lone woman, a resistance member; Reks remembers seeing her from time to time in Lowtown. She is backed unto the edge of the platform, surrounded by three Imperials. But there is no defeat in her eyes, only anger. Her shoulder-length hair, pale like his own, sways softly with the breeze.

 

“Who would be next?!” she thunders as she pushes an imperial off the precarious perch. The Imperial falls on his back and Reks knows that even the most skilled healers would not be able to bring his mobility back, should he even live.

 

“Close ranks!” One of the Imperials orders with a snarl.

 

Balthier sighs. “Sometimes it’s hard being the leading man,” he comments before whipping out his gun and shooting the leader of the gaggle.

 

“I suggest you jump,” Balthier calls out to the warrior. The woman glances down at them suspiciously before understanding her dire situation and putting her faith in Balthier. “Fran, if you would.”

 

Fran sighs. “Our ranks grow by the hour,” she says blandly before casting float on the young woman.

 

“My troubles with it. I never should have teamed up with you,” Reks mutters, as one of the Imperials shouts something about more Insurgents. He draws his blade as the soldiers file down the steps, prepared to heal any of the others if needed. Though both Balthier and Fran can also cast White Magick, Balthier lacks power behind his spells and Fran’s long ranged weapon would be more useful in this situation than his blade.

  

Thankfully the group of Imperials is small, only about six soldiers, so Reks and the others have no trouble immobilizing them. Reks faces the woman, raising his brow at her impractical clothing choices. Fran’s clothing is also not ideal but he knows from Krjn that Viera skin itself is very tough, and that the traditional armours they wear are specially crafted and magicked for their species.

 

“Are you alright?” Reks asks, cleaning his blade with a rag he had in his pocket.

 

“Thank you,” she replies, smoothing down her fuchsia miniskirt. “I am Amalia……Did you meet anyone else? There were others with me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Fran says with a shake of her head.

 

The Resistance fighter turns away from them, tilting her head down. “No…”

 

Balthier looks on with a frown before sighing. Reks raises his brows as the Sky pirate pulls out a handkerchief from some mysterious pocket before walking past him to get to the woman. It’s as he passes by that Reks notices something odd about Balthier’s pocket…

 

“Um, hey Balthier?” Reks says with shake of his head. “Your…I don’t know how to say this… But your ass is glowing.”

 

“Why, Thank you,” Balthier comments nonchalantly, pausing for only a second. Amalia gives Reks a confused stare, turning back to face them.

 

It takes Reks a moment to figure it out before he groans and glares at the Sky Pirate. “No, you arrogant…” the hunter growls before shaking his head. “No, it’s actually  _literally_ glowing. Something on your butt is glowing!”

 

“It is the magicite,” Fran says. “The one in your back pocket.”

 

“Oh,” Balthier says, pulling out the orange hued stone with a small chuckle. The glow is more noticeable, now that it is out of Balthier’s pocket. “Well now isn’t that impressive.”

 

Reks stares at the glowing rock before slapping his forehead with his hand. The magick properties within is vast, and he can feel Exodus chuckling with mirth. It is not something natural, Reks feels ill with it near, like he did when Exodus first bonded with him. “Oh Faram,” he groans. “You’re going to get me arrested. What the hell is that?!  You said you hadn’t stolen anything that’d land us in jail! That’s no run-of-the-mill loot!”

 

Amalia looks disgusted with the pirate. “You  _stole_ that?!”

 

“Are you quite finished?” Fran cuts in before Balthier’s affronted pride can interject. The viera’s ears twitch, from anger or annoyance, Reks cannot tell. “When the guards don’t report in, they’ll come looking for us.”

 

“If they aren’t already,” Balthier admits with a sigh. “We best be off.”

 

Reks nods and prepares to leave when Amalia calls out to them. “Wait,” she says, standing tall with pride. “I am going with you.”

 

“No one invited you,” Reks says blankly. Truthfully, this woman is grating on his nerves. She acts so high and mighty even though her life was effectively saved by Balthier’s charity. Not only that, she pushes herself into things, as though any and all would accept her unconditionally. Worst, she’s an active member of the Resistance and if they are caught with her, they will certainly be roped in with the other insurgents. Reks is going to get a headache from this. If she comes with them- it spells doom for them all.

 

Balthier raises a brow at Reks’ sudden hostility and Amalia, too, has an expression of shock.

 

“It’s not as though I have any  _desire_ to travel with you,” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at the hunter. “However, the situation requires that I accept what help I can, be it from  _thieves_. Only until we find my companions of course.”

 

Reks groans with aggravation. “That’s not really the attitude you should have when asking for help,” he says sharply. “And just to be clear, we didn’t invite you and you are unwelcome to join us.”

 

“You’d leave me to fend for myself?” Amalia hisses.

 

“You were doing fine before we came here,” he replies. “You stay on your path, we stick to ours. Besides, if we are caught with you, it’s guaranteed we’ll be tied to the Resistance.”

 

“And what exactly is so horrific about that?” she asks, crossing her arms in front of her. “Does having the honour to take up arms for your nation too difficult for you to comprehend?”

 

“You fu-”  

 

“Enough!” Fran says with finality. “We are wasting precious time. Reks, I know not the reason for your abhorrence to the Resistance, but I request you keep it back for now. Allow her to accompany us. If she is captured alone, they’d have an easier time finding us.”

 

“Fran’s right,” Balthier adds. “An extra sword will be an aid, even if it’s someone like her.”

 

“Though we travel together, we’ll keep to our affairs and she to hers,” Balthier continues. “I doubt we’d find her wanting in valour though. Being such an outstanding member of the insurgence.”

 

Amalia glares. “Resistance,” she says sharply.

 

Reks huffs as he’s out voted, angry at the pirates. But, he can accept the arguments they make, and the Resistance member joins in their little group. “I’m going to get a migraine after this,” he mutters to himself.

 

“I already have one,” the Sky Pirate replies with a nod before beginning to run, in order to create some distance between them and the fallen Archadians.

 

Once Reks feels that they’ve made sufficient space between them, he slows to a walk, the others following suit. Then they begin their trek in a more thoughtful manner, not wasting their energies in running, keeping their steps silent to avoid combat. Amalia stands between Balthier and Fran, ensuring that at least one or the other remains as a buffer between her and Reks. His hostility against her has shocked the resistance member. That confuses Reks, as the Resistance isn’t exactly well-loved by the city. Surely she must have been privy to some of the complaints people said of them.

 

“What?” Reks says when he catches the Dalmascan woman staring, unwilling to ignore the glances she makes any longer. He can accept one or two, but the amount of staring she’s doing has escaped beyond the realm of rude.

 

Amalia’s eyes widen for a moment before she regains her composure. “You are… Reks, you said?” she asks, holding her blade close by her side.

 

Reks sighs and prepares himself for what will come. With her attitude, he’s surprised Amalia hasn’t exploded at him yet. “Yes,” he replies, glancing over at her with narrowed eyes. “What of it?”

 

Amalia tightens her lips, pressing them together tightly. There is a pause as she tries to collect her thoughts. “You are by chance Reks, the _hunter_?”

 

He knows what she really wants to say and resists the urge to sigh. In the Resistance, he’ll never lose the moniker “mad soldier.”

 

“Whatever it is you want to say, just get on with it,” Reks mutters with a wave of his hand. “We’ve no time for your dramatics.”

 

Amalia huffs, pride wounded by his nonchalance. “I-I simply cannot  _understand_ _your actions_ ,” she says, ignoring Balthier’s attempt to stop the impending argument. “How could you not join us when we were desperate for aid? I’ve heard of your strength in battle, of your fame as a mark hunter. You would have been a great asset to our forces. How could you ignore the oath of country and sovereignty you made when you joined the troops?”

 

Reks stares at her incredulously before barking out a sharp laugh. It’s an unpleasant sound, bitterness tinting the action. “I didn’t join the troops because I was loyal to Dalmasca,” he hisses, stopping completely to glare at the Resistance member. “The king forced us to march, without giving the men a choice. Forced us to lay down our lives for a war everyone knew we would lose.”

 

“How could you say that?!” she shouts. “As long as a single member of the Resistance still lives, victory is still at hand!”

 

“Could you possibly talk a little quieter? Unless you’ve forgotten, we are still trying to make our escape,” Balthier’s says with a hiss, though his comments are ignored by the two Dalmascans.

 

“What of today, then?! Are you honestly going to tell me that after the disaster you’ve brought on tonight, you still have a chance to win through _combat_?” Reks asks with a sneer. “How many fell tonight, Amalia?! How many? How many died for no reason tonight? Face it, all you are doing is fighting for your own lost pride- for Vossler’s pride! If you were really devoted to Dalmasca’s freedom, especially if you were so set on gaining liberty through the use of might, your Resistance would have tried to get powerful supporters by now! Everyone knows Rozarria will aid the Resistance if they would only ask.”

                                                                                                 

Amalia snarls in response, her face contorting with rage. “Rozarria and Archadia are two sides of a single coin!” she answers with fervor. “Dalmasca needs no handler- neither Archadia nor Rozarria! It must be through the wills of our people alone that Dalmasca regains her liberty. You wouldn’t understand the Margrace or the Solidor for what they are- serpents in the guise of men.”

 

Reks doesn’t reply, simply glaring and turning away from her. There isn’t time to argue with her- she is already set in her ways. He needs to regain his calm, to fight this woman would do nothing. He’s ignore the taunts before, he can do it again.

 

However, Amalia is not done yet, her anger still seething. “You have no idea the full extent of what they’ve done to Dalmasca!” she screams at his back and Balthier sighs at the sound while Fran’s ears twitch at the noise. “You fool, you know nothing of how far the Solidors would go!”

 

Something snaps in Reks at Amalia’s careless words. Something that twists and burns in a way that he hasn’t felt before. He whirls around and slams a fist at the wall, right by the woman’s head. A part of him knows he shouldn’t be acting this way, but he can feel nothing but the surge of anger- fuel added to the fire by Exodus’ words of encouragement.

 

“You know  _nothing_  about me, woman,” he hisses, glaring down at Amalia. He can hear Exodus laugh somewhere in the back of his mind. The sound of flowing water, of Balthier and Fran’s attempts to mediate the situation, they all fade into white noise.  “You know nothing of the wrongs that family has done to me! Believe me, _no one_ knows better than I about how far the Solidors would go to get what they want!  **No one**!”  

 

His voice gets increasingly louder with each word until he is screaming to the heavens. There is something wrong with him- Reks doesn’t understand why he’s so full of anger. Countless people have insulted him before, but never has Reks reacted like this. Reks notices Amalia trying to squirm away so with a snarl, he fences her in with his other hand. He can vaguely feel something break in his grip. “So, Lady Amalia, don’t  _delude_ yourself into thinking that it is ignorance or disloyalty that stops our people from joining your precious Resistance,” he growls, his eyes never leaving the woman’s. “They don’t join because they know that all they are fighting for is the pride of a single person, not for Dalmasca.”

 

Anger drains out of him with his last words, and Reks tilts his head up, exhaling softly. He suddenly feels pain on his palms, and an insistent tugging on his sleeves. It is as though he was in a haze until now, as if someone else was projecting his anger in Reks’ stead. Balthier tugs him away from Amalia and Reks stares with detached interest at his bloody hands, crushed rock embedded into the skin.

 

“What in Ivalice was that?!” Balthier asks, pushing at Reks’ shoulder to face him. Amalia remains frozen against the wall, body trembling almost unnoticeably, her face sallow.

 

“What?” Reks says with a glare, picking out flecks of stone and casting cure on the minor injuries. He stares at the indented wall, wondering where all that strength came from.

 

Fran stands silently, narrowing her eyes. “The mist surged around you,” she explains. “Burning… Frightful mist…” She trails off as she gives Reks an appraising stare.

 

 _You almost lost it…_ Exodus comments lightly.  _What a shame you brought yourself back._

 

Reks sighs, knowing that the Esper must have had something to do with it. “Well then,” he says, trying to salvage the situation. “I guess Amalia should stop pissing me off from now on.”

 

He shoves past them, moving back to the front. “Come on,” he says, not bothering to look back at the other three. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Balthier mutter in the back. Reks can hear the pirate turning to the Resistance fighter. “And  _you_ , I’d suggest you stay in the back with me until we part.”

 

Before he has a chance to fully calm down, their little group is attacked by a large group of Jellies. Reks takes out his anger on the globular masses; his fire spell is extra powerful tonight. The Jellies are quickly defeated, and they continue their trek without much fanfare.

 

Their journey is tense and silent now, with only Balthier and Fran murmuring to each other while avoiding Reks’ eyes. Amalia remains far from Reks, only shooting him looks of unease when she thinks he is distracted. Good, let her fear him. Maybe that will make the Resistance leave him be.

 

They are nearing the exit when Amalia seems to have gotten her voice back. She turns to Reks, facing him with her arms crossed.

 

“What wrong did the Solidors bring upon you?” she asks with a wary stare.

 

Reks smiles bitterly at Amalia but does not answer, meandering his way to the Overflow Coaca instead. Who does this woman think she is? To think she can be privy to his secrets. Luckily, Reks will not have deal with them for much longer. They’ve finally made it to the entrance to Lowtown and Reks sighs with relief.

 

But a dense fog rises around them before Reks can celebrate, and he groans as a Firemane thunders its way in front of them, blocking the short passage to the exit.

 

“Oh, for-!” Reks mutters, pulling out the Durandal. He turns and glares at Balthier. “Is your stupid rock bringing all these monsters to us?!”

 

“Oh please. If anything, your little show of anger is probably what’s dragging them to us,” Balthier comments with roll of his eyes, aiming his gun at the beast. The pirate swears under his breath as the monster teleports, dodging the attack.

 

“Enough talk,” Fran says, drawing her bow. “We should strike swift and true so we may make good our escape.”

 

A powerful blizzaga casted by Reks destroys the Firemane’s final defences, and a sharp shot by Fran bring the beast down for good. The Firemane neighs in a pitiful wail as it disappears, merging back into the mist from whence it came. Amalia casts cura on the group while Reks uses water on some of the worst burns on Balthier and Amalia. Their tension is lessened by their victory and their impending escape. They even manage to share a small smile with one another.

 

But their victorious high is brought down by the sound of guns cocking and the soft clanking of metal. Reks’ world focuses on the man in the front and centre of the brigade targeting them. This is the closest Reks has been to Vayne Solidor since the incident and he is bitter to note that the Archadian doesn’t look any worse for wear. Behind him, Reks can hear Balthier muttering something to Amalia but Reks’ focus is only on the Consul.

 

“Well,” Vayne Solidor says with hooded eyes. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

 

***

 

They cuff Reks’ wrists in front of him, with magick draining stones lining the shackles; they want to keep an eye on his hands, an extra precaution to make sure he can’t cast something. Amalia stands beside him, seething as Vayne walks down the line, scanning the group while Balthier just sighs with annoyance at the arrest. Fran, Reks cannot get a read on at all.

 

“A pair of sky pirates, an Insurgent member-” Vayne drawls.

 

“Resistance,” Amalia cuts in, glaring with such fury that Vayne would spontaneously combust if she had the ability.

 

The Solidor ignores her, as if she is no one important, and Amalia’s face turns even darker in anger. The Archadian stands instead, in front of Reks, smiling that serpent smile that the hunter has had the unfortunate luck to see too often for his tastes.

 

“Well, if it isn’t our illustrious hunter,” Vayne says with a genial smile. Reks wants to rip the bastard’s face off but with his shackles binding him and the Imperial blade unsheathed right by his neck, Reks can’t do much. “Circumstances lead us to cross paths once more.”

 

At any other time, Reks would scream, would attack- that much is true. But something makes him give pause- maybe a desire to ignore the Esper that orders him to attack the Solidor. Maybe because he has wasted all his anger at Amalia tonight. More than that, what has being on the offensive gotten him against Vayne, other than softening the weight of his failure? So that Reks could go salvage his battered pride with the idea that he at the very least, never bowed or begged to the Solidor.

 

What a hypocrite he is. Unable to swallow his damned pride for the greater good. Maybe that’s what stops his aggressive stance.

 

He takes a deep breath to ground himself-this is what must be done- before glancing up to meet Vayne’s eyes. “Indeed, we meet much too often for my tastes,” he says with a half-smile he reserves for the petitioners he cannot stand but also cannot afford to get rid of. “But I can say that you have risen higher than I’ve ever imagined.”

 

The only indication of Vayne’s surprise is a slight rise of his brows, though he aborts the motion seconds after, regaining his composure.

 

Reks tilts his head down to the ground, counting the cobblestones at his feet. He knows himself- he will not be able to says the words if he has to look at the Archadian. Reks’ hatred is too great.

 

“You are a prince of a massive nation. A consul to another. You have managed to vanquish a third by allowing the people to destroy each other in the name of peace. Three nations bow at your feet,” Reks says with a blank tone. He cannot muster the energy to sound respectful or in awe of the man. The words themselves are difficult for Reks to even say.

 

He glares up at Vayne. “Three countries bow in respect of you, so what do you even need him for?”     

 

Vayne tilts his head, as though thinking through the words, but the swiftness in which he leans close to Reks’ ear shows that the Archadian actually gave no thought at all. Behind him, an Imperial grips Reks by his hair, obeying a silent order to keep the hunter in his place.

 

“Indeed, I’ve no need for the child you yearn for so greatly,” Vayne replies, dark long hair hiding his expression to all.

 

“Then-”

 

“However, that child is long gone,” the Arcadian adds, and Reks can feel the bastard smirk, even though he cannot see it. “The brother you’ve searched for with such desperation no longer exists, dear boy. In his place is victory personified, one that will walk by my side to bring forth a new chapter in Ivalice.”  

 

***

_Balthier isn’t quite sure what set the boy off, not being privy to Reks and Vayne’s conversation. But one moment, the hunter is slumped against the Imperial that holds him, glancing up at Vayne with something akin to pleading, and the next he is screaming like a banshee, rabid in his attempts to attack the Solidor._

_“I’ll kill you!” Reks screeches, his eyes alight with anger. The Imperials flounders as they struggle to keep their hold. “I’ll destroy you until nothing is left of you!!”_

_One would think that someone that size would only need one or two soldiers to hold him down, but Reks struggles with a ferocity that rivals Fran when she is in a mist rage. It takes four Imperials to finally get the boy to his knees, pushing down on his shoulder blade to keep him on the ground._

_Beside him, Balthier can see Fran frowning, her eyes narrowed. He can glean her thoughts though, after all, he’s thinking the same thing._

_There is something unnatural with the hunter that they’ve teamed up with. Explosive rage coupled with a rolling mist. He can understand Reks’ hatred, but not quite as far as the hunter seems to go._

_Balthier is brought out of his thoughts at the sound of Reks’ face slamming into the ground, an Imperial soldier fist tangled in his hair._

_“That is no way to treat your prisoners,” Balthier comments with a shrug, though internally, he is truly worried for the boy. Fran will have to heal him on their way to prison._

_“Keep quiet,” the soldier holding him mutters. “That’s what he gets for acting out.”_

_***_

 

Penelo pushes through the crowd, still sceptical of the situation. Reks _isn’t_ foolish enough to try and steal from the palace, he isn’t!

 

However, she can’t deny it when she sees Reks slumped between two Imperials, unconscious and blood on his face. The Imperials must have slammed his head against the wall! Those brutes!

 

There are others with him but no one she recognizes, a viera stands out amongst the others. One of the women is shouting for the Imperials to let the others go as she is led away from other three, and Penelo wonders for a second if the woman is someone important.

 

But this is no time to be thinking about who is important or not.

 

“Reks!” Penelo shouts fighting her way towards the group. From the corner of her eyes, she can see the Imperials preparing to attack her, to stop her by any means.

 

Before any Imperial can land a blow though, a sharply dressed man blocks her way, his short brown hair gelled back. She tilts her head as the man holds a white silk handkerchief, embroidered on the edges.

 

“Hold on to this for me,” the man says with a smile.  “Just until I can get Reks back.”

 

Penelo takes it with a tilt of her head. “Where-where are they taking him?” she asks, brows furrowed with distress. “He’s… He’s my  _brother._ ”

 

The Viera slides into the conversation, putting a gentle hand on the young hume. Penelo doesn’t know why, but she feels at ease with the Viera nearby. “It is not as bad as it could be,” she says softly, towering over the humes. “It is Nalbina that is our destination.”

 

Both the sky pirates watch with confusion as Penelo’s face pales and she puts a shaking hand on her lips.

 

“No…” the blonde gasps out. “No…”

 

There isn’t much time to reassure the girl as he’s being led away but Balthier whips out a confident smile. “Don’t worry my dear, Nalbina isn’t much of a dungeon. We’ll be out in soon enough.”

 

Penelo remains frozen, shaking her head; she fears for Reks. Those strangers cannot know what they speak of. She wonders if the Archadians will finish what he started in that place two years ago.

 

***

_Lowtown, Year 706 Old Valendian_

 

The Galbana Lilies manages to last the night, a silver lining to an otherwise wasteful day. Rasler smiles down at the plant before making his way home. He knows he should go drop off the mark first but he’d rather present Reks with the flowers while the petals are still fresh. It is such a silly trinket but he knows Reks will appreciate the gesture.

 

By the gods, Rasler is turning into a sentimental sap.

 

When he nears the house, Rasler is surprised to find young Penelo there, sitting against his front door. Rasler raises his brows at the sight- she rarely visits them at their home.

 

Reks dislikes having visitors enter his house.

 

“Hello Penelo,” Rasler says, nodding his head as he makes the greeting. He has the flowers in one hand and the bag containing the monster’s head in the other, so he has his hands full. “What brings you here?”

 

The girl looks up, and Rasler is taken back by her puffy eyes and redden cheeks. Penelo is strong in her own way- never has he seen the girl cry, despite all the difficulties she has faced. “Raze! I was waiting for you. Something happened last night.” she sniffles out and his heart freezes. Penelo confirms his worst suspicion when she adds, “It’s Reks. They said he ran off to the Palace and stole something! I don’t believe it for a second! They just want to send him to prison-”

 

Rasler’s throat tightens, and he feels a weight on his chest, constricting him.  _Nalbina_ … The place of Reks’ nightmares… Of all the dungeons…

 

“Why now?” he gasps out when he finally manages to get his voice back. What triggered Vayne Solidor to send Reks to prison? What triggered Reks to foray into the Palace?

 

Penelo shakes her head, biting her lips. “I don’t know,” she says, blinking back her tears.

 

“What would he even steal-” Rasler cuts himself off with a click of his teeth. Of course, what else would Reks be trying to steal from the consul than his only brother? Vayne Solidor was at the Palace, Lady Galabana must have been as well. Reks must have attempted to enter the fete to speak to the woman.

 

Clearly, he was unsuccessful.

 

Rasler crouches next to Penelo, dropping the bag with the mark’s head to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Do not fear,” he says after a sigh. “I will find a way liberate Reks.”

 

Penelo nods and rises with a shaky breath. “If there’s anything I can do to help,” she says, pressing her hands together.

 

“You will be the first one I contact,” Rasler replies in a firm tone.

 

Nerves somewhat soothed, she makes her way back to the city proper, though Penelo is devoid of her usual optimism, her shoulders hunched down.

 

Back inside his home, Rasler places the flowers in a cup before digging around for his hunting pack.  He begins planning his route to Nalbina- It will take two days to ride to the entrance of the Barheim Passage and several more to navigate his way into the fortress. He must pack enough provisions for both the long travel and to feed Reks once he is successful in escaping.

 

Rasler presses his hand against his forehead, despair creeping up on him. “Damn it Reks… Be safe.”

 

He doesn’t know what will become of him should Reks not return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I changed Reks interaction with Vayne – I thought well, if Reks knew that violence led him nowhere, he would have at changed tactics at least once… Also, I thought- Why not??! 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING
> 
> COMMENTS ARE LOVED AND RESPONDED TO!!!! :D


	6. Chapter 3- Split Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! As always~~   
> Double thank you for those of you that commented :D :D 
> 
> Finally, my beautiful child Basch Fon Ronsenburg is going to show up. I’m serious- he’s the best. I love Vaan too, I don’t care what people say. What a good golden child (who knows what he's there for lol).
> 
> Warnings for the chapter: brief PTSD, and brief mentions of murder (nothing happens, just talk of it)

_Nalbina Dungeons, Year 706 Old Valendian_

 

Reks blinks rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the blinding light. He groans as he feels a sharp pain and gingerly reaches over to feel dried blood sticking to his mouth and nose. Today has not been his day. If only he had brought Rasler along- all this could have been avoided.

 

“Finally awake, are you?”Balthier calls out from his seat. The Archadian is looking incredibly comfortable on what appears to be a fallen limestone pillar. Reks takes a second to ponder if this whole place is in danger of collapsing. Most likely- he must be in a prison, and the Imperials wouldn’t care if their prisoners got crushed to death.

 

“Where are we?” he asks, casting cure on his injuries. Luckily, the soldiers had released the magick draining cuffs once they put him here. He murmurs a water spell as well, cleaning his face as best he can. Maybe he should get a rag for this.

 

Balthier raises a brow. “Prison, where else?”

 

Reks groans. “Damn it Balthier! I thought you said you didn’t steal anything that’d land us in jail,” he mutters, shaking some of the sand that had fallen on him.

 

The sky pirate smirks, an almost disbelieving glint in his eyes. “Unless you’ve forgotten, your spectacularly violent response to the good consul is why you’re here.”

 

Reks remembers the night before, seeing Vayne Solidor again, his failed plan to meet Lady Galbana. “Oh, right,” he trails off, not knowing what to say. Better switch topics instead. “Which one are we at? Socia? Mossburrow?”

 

He’s had petitions from prisons- they pay surprisingly well for their marks.

 

Balthier furrows his brows, though his lips stay quirked up. “My, my, aren’t you well informed?” the sky pirate says before shaking his head. “Fortunately, we’re not even in a proper dungeon; they just shipped us out to Nalbina.”

 

Reks tenses at the name. “In what universe is Nalbina _not_ a prison?” Reks hisses, clenching his fist to stop himself from shaking.

 

Balthier stands, taking a step towards him. “Are you alright? I ju-”

 

Reks stops him with a hand, to keep the distance between himself and the pirate. If anyone comes near at this moment, Reks will attack, friend or not. He puts his other hand on the back on his neck, digging his nails into the skin. He just needs to calm down; he’s not even in isolation here- there is nothing to fear. They don’t even want to interrogate him. There is an exit, he notes, as his eyes dart across his surroundings. This is not like before.

 

What was it Monid said to do? Press his hands together and count to ten? Or wait, close his eyes and breathe? Wait- was that what Brisin said? All the advice they gave him are merging together into a jumbled mess.

 

Reks shakes his head, before pressing his palms against his eyelids. For him, having the pressure against his eyes helps him- the darkness is an aid. He begins slowing his breathing in time with the soft sound of sand trickling- from the ceiling, he assumes.

 

“It’s fine,” Reks says, once he has managed to calm himself down. Not his best moment. But it’s not as though he’ll see Balthier again after this. “Where’s Fran?”

 

Balthier crosses his arms but accepts the attempt to switch topics without complaint. “She’s off trying to find us a way out.”

 

“Is that safe?” Reks asks, patting himself down. He had hoped they’d miss at least one but looks like the guards had taken all his weapons, even the puny dagger he had in his boot! “I mean, she doesn’t even have any weapons.”

 

The Archadian shrugs. “I wouldn’t worry. She’s stronger than she looks.”

 

Reks nods- that’s certainly true. He’s seen Krjn flip a man over her shoulder with one hand. “I’m going to take a look around too,” he says, making his way to the hall. There are no doors, just a rectangular opening. He’s getting antsy just sitting here.

 

“Alright, but remember what curiosity killed,” Balthier comments before lifting a small flask, half empty. “This is all the water we’ve got, so I’d save your strength if I were you.”

 

Reks narrows his eyes at the pirate before putting his hand out. “Give me the flask,” he orders with a huff- Balthier bristles at the tone but tosses it over nonetheless. Reks shakes his head and mutters about sky pirates with a lack of survival skills as he uncorks the flask. The hunter casts a water spell, keeping its intensity as low as possible. The flask soon fills and he corks it before passing it back to Balthier with an exasperated look.

 

“There you go,” Reks says with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe you were worrying about water when we have the spell. I’d be more worried about food if I were you.”

 

Balthier stares down at the flask, cool to the touch thanks to fresh water inside. “I’ve never quite envisioned using the spell like that,” he replies flippantly.

 

“You don’t leave your comfy, well-furnished ship very often, do you?” Reks comments, before leaving without waiting for the Archadian’s response.

 

He wanders through the prison, no particular destination in mind. While exploring, Reks is surprised to find himself agreeing with Balthier. Nalbina Dungeon, the parts that aren’t isolation cells that is, doesn’t resemble a prison at all.  It’s really more of a smaller scale Lowtown- with more political insurgents, petty thieves and criminals packed into the tighter quarters. No wonder Balthier thought so little of the place-if this is all he knows of Nalbina.

 

There aren’t even guards here, just prisoners milling around with dead eyes. Reks feels himself relaxing. Here, out in the open, he’ll be able to fight back. And if his opponents are other prisoners, Reks has an edge against them. Half of them look to be near death’s door already.

 

Reks avoids the crowds the best he can, though most don’t even acknowledge him, too drained by their imprisonment. He meanders through the halls again, this time with a goal in mind-finding an exit. From Rasler, Reks knows that the bottom floor of the fortress is just the sealed off area of the former slums, back when it had been an actual city, instead of an Archadian outpost.

 

And if Reks knows anything, it’s that the slums always have extra exits set up, most not in the official blueprints. He moves from wall to wall, giving the stone a light tap here and there.

 

He finds nothing… Not even a broken hole in the wall. What a waste of two hours. With a sigh Reks gives up his endeavour, just walking for the sake of stretching his legs. He should probably try to locate either Fran or Balthier to see if they’ve had better success than him. But, instead of doing that, Reks wanders around until he reaches the centre of the prison, where a high fence encircles a dirt patch. He assumes that this is some sort of fighting ring but has to wonder who has the energy to brawl when everyone looks so pathetic around here. For what purpose was this thing made for?

 

As he is about to make his way back into the relative safety of the shadows, something comes flying from the upper levels and Reks manages to slip out of the way just as a Bangaa crashes to the ground, a pained groan on his lips.

 

Reks winces at the impact before he crouches next to the wounded Bangaa and casts a cure spell on him; it’s not his best white magick but Reks isn’t so stupid that he’d waste all his energies on one person. “You alright?” he asks, placing a hand on the Bangaa’s shoulder.

 

The Bangaa breathes heavily, Reks’ magick not as effective due to the prisoner’s own malnourished body working against him. “Save…Yourself,” the Bangaa gurgles out just as Reks hears three pairs of legs land heavily behind him. The hunter whirls around to face them, raising his brows as he sees three heavy-set Seeqs grunting, each one holding a club.

 

Ah, so these guys are the ones that have fun with the fight pen.

 

“What do you think you are doing?” Reks says, keeping his voice low and even despite the anger in his gaze. The Seeqs’ initial reaction is to jump back at the intensity of his glare but they regain their bravado a moment later, snarling and making their way closer.

 

“Punish that one,” the red Seeq says, snorting. “No one disrespects us.”

 

Reks snorts, glaring down at the short creature with disgust. “This,” he says, gesturing behind him. “Is cruelty and nothing more. Why are you doing this to a fellow prisoner?”

 

The lead Seeq laughs, his belly jiggling at the movement; the others join in, following his actions. “Don’t lump us with you, prisoner,” he says with a hacking snort. It’s off putting, the way the Seeq manages to talk and snort at the same time. “We are the guards of this place.”

 

“We live for the fight,” another adds, tapping his club on the palm of his hand.

 

Reks sneers. “You’re just common thugs, ganging up against the weak,” he comments in reply, lifting his hands up in front of him. “If anyone on equal footing fought you, you’d flee like the cowards you are.”

 

The hunter knows that their claims have no weight. The Archadian Government is too xenophobic to hire Seeqs for any guard positions, even in a place like Nalbina. From the corner of his eyes, Reks sees the Bangaa crawl away and he hopes the injured prisoner has allies that’ll be able to help him.

 

One of the Seeqs starts to follow after the Bangaa but Reks stops him with a blast of fire from his fingertips.

 

“I’ll take you on, since you _love the battle_ so much,” Reks says with a sneer. Seeqs are weak to Fire, even more so than humes, as he learned from his friend, Bansat- something about amount of oil they excrete. The leader growls in an attempt to intimidate him before swinging his club at Reks, who easily crouches out of the way, and sends another fire spell at the group in retaliation.

 

Reks sticks Fire, Fira at most, while fighting the Seeq trio. They deserve to be punished for their deeds but he isn’t so cruel that he’d want the stupid things to die from this. Reks is swift on his feet, dodging the Seeqs’ clumsy hits easily, and it’s almost a game to the hunter at this point. Clearly, they had only managed to reign supreme so long because they were the healthiest around.

 

“Beat them pigs up!” Someone shouts from above, and Reks notices with a start that they’ve attracted a crowd. The prisoners cheer from the upper levels as Reks lands another blow against the Seeqs; the spectators seem to regain some vigour as they watch the fight. Great- now he’s entertainment.

 

“Fucking bastards,” a Bangaa growls. “Can’t do shit but beat up those who are too weak to fight back!”

 

“Beat them up good!”

 

The Seeqs get progressively angrier as the crowd jeers down at them, and in a moment of stupidity, the leader drinks a Bacchus’ wine, triggering the Berserk status within him. Reks rolls his eyes at the sight before blasting another fire spell that knocks him out cold. The other two fall easily without the leader to coordinate them, and pretty soon, Reks is glaring down at unconscious lot with a shake of his head.

 

Reks turns to leave, sliding past the cheering crowd. “I wouldn’t kick them while they’re down,” he comments, uncomfortable with all these strangers patting him on the back. “That’ll make you as bad as them.”

 

“My, aren’t you the noble one,” Balthier says with a wave, leaning against the wall like he’d be waiting for Reks to show up. “Thought you might need a hand but looks like my worries were for naught.”

 

Before Reks can reply, there is a creak of metal as one of the gates rise, revealing a group of Imperials followed by a heavily pierced Green Bangaa. Oh, there actually are guards after all.

 

They file down on either end of the staircase in perfect synchronicity, and it would be impressive if Reks didn’t hate them so much.  All that show, only to have a higher ranking Imperial march down with the Bangaa- Reks rolls his eyes at the theatrics. These damn Archadians.

 

Balthier pulls Reks behind the pillar he’d just been resting against, hiding them in the shadows. “They just don’t give up, do they?” the sky pirate hisses as the Green Bangaa is joined by three other Bangaas, each with varying degrees of piercings.

 

“Friends of yours?” Reks asks with a raise of his brows. They don’t really look like they’re here for a friendly visit.

 

Balthier opens his mouth to answer, only for Fran to slide in behind him, silent and graceful. “Oh, Fran,” the Archadian says in lieu of answering. “Found us a way out?”

 

Fran nods, her long hair swinging with the motion. “Yes. Through the Oubliette, there’s a way out,” she says, but then her expression shifts into discomfort. “Only…”

 

“You sense the mist,” Balthier finishes with a sigh. “Then, we’ll need our weapons.”

 

“We would have needed them regardless,” Fran says, tilting her head.

 

They are brought out of their conversation by the head Imperial slamming a gauntleted hand on the railing, creating a sharp noise that echoes in the hall. “What did you call me?” he growls at the Bangaa. “Say that again!”

 

“What? You couldn’t hear?!” the green Bangaa replies. His voice is deep and raspy and Reks winces at the unpleasant sound. “I said you lot are incompetent fools! If you the sky pirate in your hands, where is he?”

 

The Imperial laughs derisively. “You’d have done better Ba’Gamnan?” he asks with a snort. “By your own words, it was the Imperial army that caught that sky pirate of yours! We’ve done your job for you; without the assistance of filthy headhunters.”

 

Reks raises a brow before turning to Balthier. “So he is here for you. You have some interesting followers Balthier,” he comments. “Not the brightest though, is he?”

 

Fran shrugs. “You do not have to be intelligent to be a headhunter,” she says. “Ruthlessness is the only requirement.”

 

Ba’Gamnan stalks up to the Imperial, nails tapping on the hilt of sword. “Maybe I’ll whet my blade on you, before I kill Balthier.”

 

The soldiers simultaneously grip their own weapons, ready to defend their captain when a sharp voice makes everyone halt their actions.

 

“That’s enough Ba’Gamnan,” the Judge commands as he steps down the stairs. Reks tenses, curling his fingers into a fist; it’s always has to be _that_ judge… He’s noticeable by his ram-horned headgear, and his armour, tinted closer to gold than the others. That son of a bitch…

 

“A Judge,” Fran spits out the words with a hiss.

 

Balthier sighs. “The self-proclaimed guardians of law and order in Archadia,” the sky pirate says with a sigh. “The Elite Guards of House Solidor and the Commanders of the Imperial Army.”

 

Reks nods along but he doesn’t fully hear the pirate’s words. All he can focus on is the Judge. And here he was thinking that the gods hated him. “Judge Magister Gabranth,” he breathes out with a hiss. “I can’t believe it.”

 

“Can’t believe what? What he’s doing here?” Balthier mutters.

 

Reks turns to the pirate, shaking his head. “No,” he replies with a dark grin, unable to help himself. “I can’t believe that fate has finally tossed me a bone!”

 

Balthier raises his brows, looking concerned at Reks’ expression. “What are you going on about?”

 

“I’m going to kill him-”

 

Balthier grabs Reks by the shoulders. “Pull yourself together man!” he hisses. “You really think it’s a good idea to kill a Judge while we’re inside an Archadian prison?”

 

“What other chances will I have to kill that Judge Magister?” Reks replies with a glare.

 

Fran also places a hand on his arm, just above Reks’ elbow, and shakes her head lightly. “I feel your rage Reks,” she says. “But you must be wise in your attack. What will you achieve by killing one Judge only to be killed at the hands of a hundred Imperials?”

 

Balthier nods at Fran’s words. “And believe me, you’ll have plenty of chances to fight Gabranth,” he adds. “With your animosity against Vayne, the bastard will send the Judge over to you sooner or later.”

 

Reks snarls in frustration but accepts the pirates’ words. It’d be a foolish move to attack him, even if he wants to so badly. He needs to return- Rasler waiting for him. “Ok. Fine. Let’s get out of here first,” he mutters with his eyes closed. Just for a few moments to regain his calm.

 

“The Judge is leaving,” Fran cuts into his meditation, and Reks starts at the words, turning to see Ba’Gamnan shake with fury as the judge marches past him. “They are going towards the Oubliette.”

 

“That’s where our exit is,” Balthier says with a twitch of his lips. “Time for the hare to follow the fox then. Shall we be off?”

 

“What the hell does that even mean?” Reks asks with a furrow of his brows.

 

Fran’s the one to explain, her red eyes glowing. “The magicks binding the doors to the Oubliette are quite strong,” she answers. “Too strong even for our talents.”

 

“I see,” Reks replies with a hum.

 

“So we’ll get them to open it for us,” Balthier adds with a sneer. “Why bother wasting our energies?”

 

Reks chuckles with a shake of his head. “Well, can’t argue with that,” he says before frowning. “But how will going deeper get us out?”

 

Balthier gives him a pointed look. “Viera noses are sharp,” he says with confidence. “If she says there’s a way out, there’s a way out.”

 

“You’d better be right about this,” Reks mutters, following the Sky pirate’s footsteps. From what he remembers, the way to the Oubliette passes the isolation chambers. His guts coil tightly at the thought. He wishes Fran found another way out.

 

But there is no time to complain, as Fran finds them a way past the guards to follow the Judge with no one the wiser. They shadow the Imperials for several minutes until Fran stops suddenly, her head turned to face a small alcove almost hidden behind a large pillar.

 

“Look,” Fran says, pointing with a long, elegant finger. “Our things.”

 

“Oh, thank the gods,” Reks says, pulling out his armour. “I just bought these. And my sword was a gift- he’d never let me forget it if I lost it.”

 

They retake their things in silence. Reks slips on his armour with quick efficiency brought on by years of slipping on his equipment and slides his numerous daggers into its compartment with practiced ease. His main weapon, Durandal, hangs by his waist for easy reach. He also takes along a rapier that would be useful as a secondary weapon. It’ll be better used with him than gathering dust in this chamber.

 

Once he is done equipping himself, Reks ties on his satchel of items, thankful that it managed to stay together. What a hassle it’d be to try and collect all the vials of sundries again.

 

“Ready?” Reks asks once he is done, noting that Fran and Balthier seem to have nabbed some secondary weapons as well. Good to know they were like-minded in practicality.

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” the sky pirate says with a wink while Fran nods solemnly.

 

“Alright,” Reks says with a sigh. “I have a plan. Because just following behind them this deep in the prison will not be viable anymore.”

 

“What do you propose?” Fran asks, her gaze focused on Reks.

 

“Fran and I will cast vanish on the three of us while we follow the Imperials,” Reks says as he crosses his arm in front of him. “We’re practically silent on our feet that invisibility will be enough for the Imperials to remain ignorant of our presence. They won’t even notice the surge of magick with our casting because there’ll be enough in the area thanks to the seal on the Oubliette doors.”

 

Balthier nods with a tilt of his lips. “I was going to suggest we steal their uniforms but that’s a much safer alternative,” the Archadian says. “Let’s go with that.”

 

“But will we have enough magick?” she asks. “Vanish is a spell that lasts only a few minutes, and takes considerable investment from the caster.”

 

“That’s why you and I will take turns,” Reks replies. “As long as Balthier is not the one casting, the spell should last long enough that the next person can cast it with time to spare.”

 

Balthier gives them an affronted glare. “Magick doesn’t suit the leading man,” he says with a huff.

 

Fran smirks at her partner, giving him a nudge. “That’s why the Leading man will do nothing this time,” she says lightly before her face turns serious once more. “But we must make haste- if we stay idle for much longer, the Judge will get past the Oubliette doors without us.”

 

Reks gives a single sharp nod in response. With a soft murmur he casts Vanish on the three of them, their forms fading, hidden behind a wall of Mist. Then they’re off, sprinting to make up for lost time and to catch up to the Judge and his followers.

 

***

 

The Oubliette doors are right next to the torture chambers, and if that isn’t nightmare inducing, Reks doesn’t know what is. Reks remembers getting dragged down this path from his tiny cell, and it takes biting his lips hard enough to bleed to stifle his ragged breathing. He’s glad that they are invisible, so neither Fran nor Balthier can see him in this state.

 

It shouldn’t affect him this much. It’s just a hallway, and a door. Nalbina is just a building. But, no matter what words he uses to rationalize it, Reks can’t help the drying of his mouth, the sweat that seems to gather at his brows.

 

Balthier jolts him out of it. “You’re breathing too loudly,” he hisses though his tone is softer than normal.  “Just hold on a little longer… That bastard’s almost got the doors open.”

 

The mages next to Judge Gabranth shakes with exertion as they magick the doors open, the vine-like wrappings around the doors lighting up and curling away.

 

Reks almost says “I don’t want to go in there,” but he manages to bite his lips to keep quiet. This is the only way to get out and Reks will not let some memory hold him back. They scurry behind Gabranth- narrowly avoiding the door closing behind them.

 

In the Oubliette itself, there are no other guards save for the ones they are tailing, so they let the Vanish spell end without renewing it. But in turn, they must match their steps perfectly in time with the Imperials, lest they notice three extra sets of footsteps echoing along the hall.

 

Fran starts when she takes in Reks’ appearance. “Are you alright?” she asks, noting his sallow complexion and darting eyes.

 

“I’m fine,” he whispers back, herding them behind a pillar. Reks tilts his head slightly, keeping his eyes solely on the Judge. What exactly was the Judge doing here? What important prisoner could he possibly be meeting?

 

Then Judge Gabranth pulls off his helmet, cracking his neck as he frees his head from its metal confinement.

 

‘Captain Basch?!’ Reks wants to scream when he sees the Judge’s face but he silences that urge by pressing a hand against his lips. He knows that the Judge had stolen Captain Basch’s face somehow when he assassinated the King but Reks has no idea why his face _still_ mimics Captain Fon Ronsenburg’s two years later.

 

“You have grown thin, Basch,” Judge Gabranth says to the prisoner, looking almost uncomfortable at the words. Reks’ eyes dart to the cage where the prisoner hangs. How in Ivalice had he not notice the prisoner?

 

The prisoner is also Captain Basch. Reks’ eyes widen as he stares at the hume. That man shares Captain Basch’s face as well. What is this madness?

 

 _What interesting turn of events!_ Exodus booms out, laughing.

 

‘Just stay quiet!’ Reks growls back at the esper. ‘Every time you open your mouth, things get worse!’

 

This is insanity. Captain Basch is dead, and now these two make a mockery of it by using his face.

 

“Less than a shadow, less than a man,” Judge Gabranth says, glaring up at the emaciated form. There is no peace for the man in that cage, and for a moment, Reks is glad that he had a cell to himself- anything is better than that birdcage. The Judge’s next words makes Reks narrow his eyes. “Sentenced to death, and yet, you live…Why?”

 

Sentenced to death?

 

“To silence Ondore…How many times must I say it?” the prisoner rasps, and Reks covers his mouth to stifle his gasp because that pathetic excuse of a man actually is the Captain… He could be no other. Even after all this time, despite being raspy and weaker than before, it is the genuine voice of Captain Basch Fon Ronsenburg. That man without a doubt is the _real_ Captain Basch. When Reks examines the two closer, he can see that the prisoner has blue eyes like the Captain while the Judge has amber eyes.

 

“He still lives,” Reks gasps out, stifling his smile. “He lives!”

 

Balthier shrugs but stays silent, more interested in the scene in front of him.

 

“Is that all?” Gabranth asks, narrowing his eyes.

 

Captain Basch sighs before glancing down at his captor. “Why not ask Vayne himself?” he hisses, but without much energy. Like the entire conversation is one they’ve spoken many time before. “Is he not one of your masters?”

 

Judge Gabranth growls, in what sounds like displeasure. At what, Reks couldn’t say- at Captain Basch’s lack of anger? At the insult that he is Vayne’s hound? “We’ve caught a Leader of the Insurgents. She’s being brought in from Rabanastre,” the Judge replies stiffly, changing topics abruptly. “A woman… Amalia. Who could that be?”

 

“She was a leader?” Balthier comments softly. “Well… no wonder it went south so quickly…”

 

Fran nods. “She is as a foxhound,” she adds in a hush. “Only seeing what is in front of her and not of her surroundings… Unable to comprehend but for her immediate goal.”

 

Reks tilts his head in agreement but puts his finger to his lips as an order to keep silent. He needs to focus on Captain Basch and the look-alike Judge.

 

They can insult Amalia later.

 

“Such a faithful hound, to cling to a fallen kingdom,” Gabranth says with a sneer, his eyes half-lidded, like a serpent lulling a prey before striking. The Judge lifts a hand, as if he is going to grab Captain Basch’s neck, but stops himself and pulls his hand down with unnecessary force.

 

Captain Basch doesn’t mention or question the Judge’s action, preferring to respond to his words. “Better than throwing it away,” the Captain spits out, blue eyes alight with anger at last.

 

“Throwing it away,” The Judge echoes, and Reks notices a flash of pain in Gabranth’s eyes before he encases his face with the helm once more.  “Just as you threw away our homeland?”

 

With a swish of his cape, Judge Gabranth slips away, followed by the mages. Reks remains behind the pillar for several minutes after the last footsteps have disappeared.

 

Our homeland- the Judge had said.

 

Clearly they went a long way back. And Reks is beginning to suspect that Brisin had _some_ idea on the connection between Judge Gabranth and Captain Fon Ronsenburg.

 

Once he gets out, Brisin will be hearing from Reks, that is for sure.

 

***

_Dalmascan Estersands, Year 706 Old Valendian_

 

Rasler releases the Chocobo with a wave and watches with a smile as the bird squawks a farewell before returning to the city. A pile of foodstuff and water flasks lays at his feet, much greater than he remembered packing. Well, it is better to be over-prepared than under in any case.

 

Rasler casts float on the whole pile, one of the few magick spells he can complete successfully, and himself and smiles as the food trails behind him like a pet cockatrice. Thank the gods Reks taught him this nifty trick.

 

Remembering Reks makes Rasler’s face turn solemn once more. He hopes his partner has not been crushed by the Nalbina Dungeon.

 

He should not think such dark thoughts. It will only lead to distraction in his trek to the prison. Rasler knows Reks is strong enough to overcome the dungeons.

 

Barheim passage had once been a transport system between the Estersands and Nalbina fortress, back when Airships hadn’t been as widely used. With the advent of Airships, the passage had been blocked and locked, with keys given only to members House Nabradia, to be used as an emergency escape should the need arise.

 

Rasler fishes out the key from his pants pocket, and hopes that it still works, that Archadia didn’t change the locks.

 

The former prince laughs with triumph as the lock clicks and the door creaks open.

 

Opening the door had been half of the problem.

 

 _How do you plan to get to the dungeon young prince?_ Chaos inquires, like a mentor berating a foolish student. _Crawl up?_

 

“I’ll think of something,” Rasler answers out loud. “Do you think I can float myself up?”

 

There is a pause where Rasler thinks Chaos is actually thinking about the probability of it being viable but really, it is because Chaos is stunned by the prince’s lack of magick understanding.

 

 _Don’t ask such an idiotic question again, princeling_.

 

With a chuckle, Rasler makes his way into the Barheim passage. The first few minutes of his trek is peaceful, with no enemy in sight, but once the Nabradian enters the large open arena of Terminus no. 4, the hairs on the back of his neck prickles. The circular chamber is open and he cannot see any enemies but he cannot shake the feeling of danger.

 

‘Do you feel that?’ Rasler asks his Esper, who is ancient and wise, and is useful at times like this- well tuned to mist as it is. His eyes dart across the open spaces, the high ceilings, and the shadowed walls only to find nothing. There’s no place for a monster to hide and yet… ‘There’s something here.’

 

 _It sleeps_. Chaos answers. _Move forward for now._

 

‘Then I’ll need to take care of it later!’ Rasler argues. ‘Where is it?’

 

 _When you are returning, your forces will be doubled_. Chaos rationalizes.

 

Rasler wants to continue arguing but he knows that the esper is right. With a sigh, he prays that whatever monster it is stays sleeping when he passes by again with Reks in tow.

 

***

 

Basch Fon Ronsenburg knows despair. It is almost a familiar companion- albeit an unwelcomed one. He has seen it when Landis crumbled before his eyes, when he had been too weak and young to save it. He has heard it when the young soldier, the one who had quietly aided his fellow troops without complaint, cried out in betrayal, when his beloved brother used their shared face to destroy him. He has felt it with every glare Noah-no, Judge Magister Gabranth- gave when he came to gloat at the base his cage.

 

And yet. And yet despite all this, all the crushing despair he’s felt, Basch Fon Ronsenburg is also no stranger to hope. Hope he felt when he first arrived to Dalmasca, a dream that he could save Landis one day. Hope he had when they ran to the king’s aid. Hope he has that with each visit Gabranth makes, Basch is somehow putting a dent in Archadia’s schemes.

 

But no hope has he felt greater than when a face from his past comes into his vision. A face that aught not be here, not here in Nalbina at all. The pale hair, grey eyes and the silent steps of a hunter.

 

And his voice- the voice of a friend, not the jeer of a guard, not the hiss of an embittered brother. “Captain Basch!” the mirage says with a cheer, gripping the bars on his cage. For that is what it must be, for did his brother not kill this innocent? The bystander in a brother’s revenge?

 

_Reks! Is it truly you, Reks?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I changed somethings, if you noticed-awesome! Tell me if you liked the change! If you didn’t – that means you have the pleasure of reading this without knowing what a trainwreck it was before :D Or, I’ve successfully changed a plot point well enough that no one noticed!!! :’) 
> 
> I didn’t know how to end the chapter so you get that… I apologize for the weirdness…. Because I just wanted Basch to be included somewhere
> 
> Next time! The A+ Team get together! Rasler and Reks finally meet up! Very exciting! And Basch!!!!! :D
> 
> Commenting is good for the soul. It’ll clear my skin and water my crops(??? Is that the saying?? I am so behind on the times friends.)
> 
> Thank you for reading~~~


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